


Let's Give this Whole "Nice" Thing a Try

by Ink_Pots



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dream SMP War, Dream Smp, Fictional Racism, Gen, Good guy Schlatt, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulative Behavior, Panic Attacks, Politics, Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric, Traitor Toby Smith | Tubbo, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 45,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27186212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ink_Pots/pseuds/Ink_Pots
Summary: Instead of executing Tubbo in front of everybody, Schlatt decides to play the nice guy, making him look pretty likable when Wilbur actually finds the button. This is what happens.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 274
Kudos: 1327





	1. Along Came a Spider

**Author's Note:**

> Don't care if the hype is over. Y'all can't stop me.

Schlatt knows Tubbo is a spy. He’s known it for a while now, in fact. One may ask why he didn’t immediately banish the traitor.

Honestly, he just loves theatrics. Why simply send him away when he can make an example of him instead? When he can make the kid plan, decorate, and give a speech at his own public execution? Now, that sends a statement. That’s _power_. That’s the shit he loves, seeing the expressions change on hundreds of people every time he talks. It doesn’t matter what their expressions turned to, as long as he was the one to bring them about.

But now? Now he doesn’t know what to do. For the first time in years, he’s at a loss for words. Fundy found and brought him the speech a few days ago, with one particular line circled. It was a trigger phrase. For what, the president had no idea. It would probably be an assassination attempt or some equally theatrical stunt from Wilbur. Schlatt had died many times before; he was fine with it. Respawns were on, and yeah, it’d hurt like a bitch, but it would paint a tale with him as the victim and Wilbur the villain. If he had to die a sacrificial lamb, then so be it.

But Tubbo did not say the line.

“You got anything else in the speech?”

“No. On that note, let the festival begin!”

Maybe this was some sort of new plan? Maybe Fundy had lied to him? No, no. The only logical explanation was the kid had a change of heart. Schlatt realizes why the young blonde kept casting him strange glances all day, searching for something. It wasn’t guilt. It was him second guessing. Whatever Tubbo was looking for, he found it.

So, what to do now? He could go along with his plan anyway. After all, Tubbo was still a spy and traitor, enemy of the state. There’s still plenty of reasons to take him out. But…

The president isn’t stupid. It was obvious most people did not approve of his election. Most of his votes had come from Quackity. In the end, only twelve percent of people actually wanted him here. He needed to play his cards right. Fundy? Untrustworthy. Who switches sides so quickly? It was suspicious. Tubbo? A confirmed traitor. He _could_ push them away, but what would that accomplish? Two of the most powerful men in the nation would leave, would join Pogtopia, make his enemies stronger. Why make this a 30 v. 1 fight?

Clearly, the kid saw _something_ in him. Maybe he could use that.

Maybe he could be the good guy.

A single clap, loud and deafening. Gazing expectantly over the crowd, slowly, the gesture is returned, a few unsure claps ring out before the audience breaks out into applause. They cheer as Schlatt goes to pat his so-called protégée on the back, trying to look as proud as possible. The kid is positively glowing, a look of starstruck awe flooding over him. He looks so happy. It’s really kind of cute, he thinks.

And then the world explodes.

Honestly, it was a pretty quick death. Explosion deaths tended to hurt immensely, but the sheer amount of TNT present made him black out so quickly, he’s not even sure what the hell happened when he respawns, ears still ringing. Rushing out of the White House, he’s greeted to ash and fire and chaos. A good chunk of people must have died immediately, because there’s a massive fuckin crater in the ground where the stage and a good portion of the stands had been a few seconds ago.

What catches his sight next makes his knees go weak in genuine terror. It’s Wilbur fuckin Soot, standing atop a pile of rubble. He looks absolutely bat shit insane, covered in soot and splashes of blood. His pupils swallow the chocolate of his eyes completely, and a sick smile covers his face as he rants, screaming. He rants about how if he couldn’t have Manburg, no one could. He raves about how everyone here was a traitor, and manic laughter fills the air, already thick with smoke.

In the peripheral of his vision, he notices Tubbo. A terrified expression replaced the once joyful one, tears streaking down his face.

Not even Tommy appeared happy with the developments, shrieking profanities, sword held tight in a white knuckled grip. He looks _pissed_.

And Schlatt? He fights to keep his own laughter at bay, because, _Jesus_ , this was perfect. The political rival gaining so much support in his banishment just fucking bombed his own country. Here, Schlatt was an innocent victim who just wanted the best for his people and his young secretary of state. All of a sudden, their roles were reversed. Schlatt was the good guy. Wilbur was the bad guy, and the ram hybrid could not have planned it better himself.

Well, time to play the part.

He sinks his knees into the warm earth, hugging his right-hand man tightly and ignoring the dirt staining his suit, “Tubbo, are you okay?”

His voice sounds incredulous, “Y- yeah. I think so.”

He pulls back to speak face to face, hands still firmly grasping onto the kid’s arms, “Jesus, fuck! What the hell just happened?”

Schlatt has to adjust his ears to pick up the next reply, barely a whisper, “I don’t know. I don’t know.” He sounds like he means it, and the president is ecstatic. Did Wilbur really just betray and violently murder his own spy? God, it was like everything was being handed to him on a silver platter.

Several disgruntled citizens emerged from the smoke with crossbows, looking blood thirsty. Ponk landed a shot right into the former president’s ribcage. Tubbo gasped. The ram hybrid grabbed his chin and forced him to look away.

“Go back to the White House, Tubbo.”

“But, but Tommy-“

He’s shouting now, “I’m not letting another horrible thing happen to you. Do it, now! That’s an order!”

His cabinet member nods, looking numb. He pauses when he notices the death message but continues stumbling toward those white walls in the next moment, never looking back. Good. Perfect.

Tommy is screaming for his best friend, frantically scanning the area for him before eventually being taken out by Skeppy. An arrow pierces his ankle, causing him to fall to the scarred ground. One swing of the sword is all it takes. Relieved, the president releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Tommy swooping in and carting his secretary of state off into the woods to comfort him was the last thing he needed. No, that was his role now.

Having to play nice would be pretty boring, but hey, Schlatt would be lying if he said it didn’t come with its rewards.


	2. 4 Morant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt works his magic that got him into office in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// depiction of a panic attack

Pathetic. He was being pathetic right now, even more than usual. He should be with his best friend right now. Tommy was screaming his name and all he did was hide and sob pathetically as Skeppy murdered him. He should be in Pogtopia right now. He should…

But then he remembers Wilbur’s crazed expression once more and can’t breathe. Can’t move. The only thing he can do is clutch at his chest, bent over on the floor and struggle to breathe, but he can’t. He can’t breathe. He’s dying. He’s dying again _oh god-_ He’s burning. The death only lasted for a split second, but it was enough for him to register his skin melting off as his legs were violently blown off his body. There was so much blood. There was so much fire.

Dying was normal, but from Wilbur, the man he dedicated his life to? It was just cruel. And he didn’t even look sorry. In fact, his Cheshire smile showed just how unapologetic he was. His leader killed him and was happy about it, thrilled even.

His heart gets caught up in his throat while his skin still feels like it’s melting. His whole body feels out of place, like it’s not supposed to be there, so intact. He still feels like he’s lying on the ground, torn to pieces and aflame. Another gasp simply fans the flames. Shaking. He can’t stop shaking. He can’t-

_Wait._

No, someone was shaking him.

Vaguely, something in the back of his brain reminded him that the present existed.

“Hey. Hey! Snap out of it!” the voice is firm yet gentle, much like the hands at his shoulders.

Staring down at the floor, he notices the shadow has horns.

“Schlatt?” voice breaking on the name.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me. Calm down. C’mon kid, you gotta slow down your breathing,” a hand soothingly rubs circles into his back. Coolness seeps through his suit, dampening the flames beneath his skin.

“I can’t. I can’t. Air. I can’t bre-“

Cutting him off, “You feel like you’re suffocating because you’re breathing too quickly to really take in any air. Relax. You’re not going to asphyxiate, I promise.” His hand stops over his lungs.

It feels like an anchor, grounding him to earth. It gives him the reassurance to try. At first, breathing normally feels like choking. Ready to give up, Schlatt whispers some encouraging words, and he endures it for a little bit longer until it feels like his lungs open up for the first time. One breath, then another, and another, and he can start to see again. His mind clears up, allowing him to finally make things out again in more ways than one. He’s in his room in the White House, curled up on the blue carpet floor. His tie has been cast aside and there’s a strange burning on his throat, but he’s okay, not on fire. All limbs are intact. It’s fine. He’s fine.

Slowly, he sits up, hissing at the pain of his back straightening after being hunched over for so long. His eyes flick over to the man behind him.

Dark brows are knitted in concern, but a small smile adorns his face, probably meant to comfort him.

He shouldn’t be accepting help from the enemy. He shouldn’t be so grateful to the man he narrowly avoided killing just a few minutes ago, but he is. Fuck it. If Wilbur didn’t want him accepting the help, he shouldn’t have created a reason for him to need help in the first place.

“You good?”

No, not really. His body still ached, and he felt like he could collapse at any moment, but he can actually think clearly and breathe, so that’s an improvement, he supposes. So, he gives an unconvincing nod.

The hybrid simply sighs and removes his hand from the blonde’s back, sitting back on his heels.

“I know the feeling. Just got blown up too, you know?”

Oh, that’s right. They died together. And yet, they were still here comforting him instead of taking time for himself. That thought is strange, so Tubbo pushes it out of his mind. He watches his president balance upright, rising up.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, huh? You’ve done plenty. I’ve got the clean-up handled, alright?”

The secretary of state feels a bit useless, cowering in his bedroom while everyone else is repairing the damage to their country, but Tubbo wouldn’t have been able to leave even if he wanted to, so he simply nods again, feeling the tension melt out of his bones as the door slides shut.

He sluggishly crawls into his bed, grateful for this time alone. The blankets feel blissfully cool as he curls up and cries until the energy has evaporated from his body completely, falling into a deep slumber.

\------------------------------

When he finally wakes up, the urge to immediately go back to sleep overwhelms him. Somehow, he’s unable to, much to his annoyance. With a groan, he sits up, looking out the window. It’s still daylight, explaining why he still feels like shit. Somewhat sadly, the view of the carnage is not visible, so he’ll actually have to get up to know what’s going on. Resigning himself to more work, he sighs and rolls onto the floor, walking over to the mirror.

Wow, he looks like shit. There are mysterious red claw marks on his neck, and he has no idea how they got there. The top buttons of his dress shirt are undone, his hair is a mess, and he has deep bags under his eyes despite just waking up. Fumbling around for his tie and quickly brushing his hair, Tubbo doesn’t even bother putting on fresh clothes. It feels as if someone sucked all the energy out of him, leaving him unsteady on his feet. The first thing he sees upon leaving the hallway is Schlatt and Quackity arguing over some piece of paper. The vice sees him first, prompting the president to follow his line of sight.

“Well, look who’s alive,” he says warmly. It’s a weird tone for him. It’s the tone from last night, and, wow, that brings a lot of unwanted memories.

“Twobo! Finally came out of your coma, huh? I was getting a little worried, el secretario,” despite Quackity’s usual playful tone, his face betrays slight indications of concern.

The kid can’t help the anxiety creeping into his voice, “Ah, how long was I out?”

“Veinte horas.”

“Uhh? How many hours?”

“Twenty,” Schlatt explains.

Tubbo nearly falls into a coughing fit. _Oh._ So that’s why it was still light outside. Then why does he still feel so _tired?_ Starting to space out, he finds focusing on anything a challenge.

“Jesus, kid. You look like shit. Quackity, go get him some coffee,” he turns and orders the VP.

The response is an exasperated huff, “Me? Why am I your secretary?”

The president activates his puppy dog eyes, “¿Por favor, mi bonita novia?”

Starting, the Latino mutters something incomprehensible before quickly exiting the room, smile gracing his lips. Apparently, that was a yes.

And then there were two.

The air becomes thick with tension. Tubbo always had a difficult time deciding what to say around the irritable ram hybrid. Whatever he said either had a massive negative or positive effect on the man. It felt like constantly skating on thin ice whenever he was around. However, the recent mood has been unnaturally welcoming. The blonde isn’t sure whether or not this is a good thing. Either way, it’s incredibly strange.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Tubbo?” Oh no. Here we go.

The wooden legs noisily grind against the floor.

“God, you look so tired after everything that happened, huh? Who would have thought that Wilbur would have betrayed you?” His blood turns to ice. Betray? Did Schlatt know-

“I mean, you weren’t on the same side, but wow. Killing your old secretary of state, your friend, someone who fought with you for independence? Didn’t know ol’ Wilbur had it in him,” he muses, giving the 16-year-old a strange, indecipherable look. Suddenly, his empty lap is very interesting.

“And for what? Completely selfish reasons!” He’s glancing upward now, showing interest.

This apparently motivates the hybrid further, “Oh come on, don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.” The kid quirks a brow, and Schlatt sighs deeply.

“I’ve heard a lot of people side with Wilbur Soot, supporting him in his messed-up goal to throw me out and forcefully make himself dictator. You said it yourself in your speech. I’m the democratically elected leader, and the only reason he wants me to resign is because I’m not doing exactly what he wants. Sure, I took down the walls and a few other things, but I did it with the country’s best interest at heart. You see how much better things look around here? Well, I mean before Wilbur came along and decided to come in with a trench coat and bombs and Heathers it up like the crazy white kid he is. He’s got that try-hard emo look down pat,” Schlatt pauses for a moment, resting his head on his fist. “Anyway, point is Wilbur created the laws of this country, and he doesn’t even respect them. The only thing that Manburg is to him is power, plain and simple. If he actually respected this place, he wouldn’t have exploded his own land and citizens to throw a tantrum over not winning a fair election,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Tubbo doesn’t know what to say. He feels like Schlatt just punched him in the lungs, leaving him reeling. He’s searching for the inaccuracy, the lie in his comments, but he simply can’t find one.

It doesn’t make any sense. Schlatt is the bad guy. Tubbo knows this. He even _looks_ evil. With his curled horns, scheming yellow eyes, and long, furry ears, he looks like a lawyer who just crawled out of the nether. He’s just a greedy asshole.

But…

No matter how hard he searches, Tubbo cannot find anything wrong with what the devil just said. They didn’t even use _the voice,_ that tone he uses when he’s manipulating someone, all false sugar and thick honey. He said it like he meant it, like it was law, like it was _fact._

And it’s freaking him out because he actually agrees with Schaltt. It’s not just a favorite color or best tie either, no, it’s that Wilbur is in the wrong here while Schlatt is in the right. His whole world is being flipped upside down, just sitting here in the White House, and he’s forgotten how to move or breathe.

But of course, Schlatt keeps talking.

“I mean, that’s why I banished those two in the first place, I knew they wouldn’t peacefully step down, and this has only proven my point. Think of the harm they could have done if I let them stay! Anyways, that’s why I’m so glad I let you stay, Tubbo,” he smiles sweetly.

Tubbo looks up like a deer in headlights.

“Your loyalty lies with your country; that’s why you stayed. The citizens of this great nation are more important than any one person, and you get that. You helped build the law, and you’re proud of it, wanna help protect it. You’re a good kid, ya know?”

Not knowing how to respond, he simply sits there and stares at the president, appearing afraid of the information he’s trying to choke down and process. Thankfully, Quackity answers for him.

“Holaaaaaaa! Guess who’s back?” he shouts, snapping him out of his daze and alleviating the tension hanging in the air. A bunch of packets of cream and sugar are dumped on the table with a single cup of coffee.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I just brought these on the side. _Mi amor,_ I brought sugar-soaked beets to maybe make you less cranky,” Quackity tosses them to Schlatt and his eyes light up.

“Holy shit,” the words become muffled as his mouth is stuffed full. “I’m gonna have to give you a promotion or somethin’.”

The vice president chuckles, “Like what? I don’t think that’s even possible.”

“I’ll make you super mega vice president, I dunno,” he explains, crunching loudly. Gulping, “Anyway, we should get back to work. I can’t make Bad and Karl do _everything._ Tubbo, feel free to join us whenever you’re ready.”

He stutters, “Y- yeah, Schlatt.”

“Good,” he sounds pleased, giving a thumbs up before going out the front door, Quackity trailing him, giving a comforting smile and winking, closing the door behind him.

Tubbo is left alone in the empty White House to reevaluate his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Schlatt "Please, my pretty girlfriend?"  
> Quackity: Mi amor = My love


	3. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt works on his public approval while Tubbo visits Pogtopia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha another chapter go brrrrrrr

When Tubbo comes outside, he doesn’t expect the scene before him.

It actually looks… good. The damage from the bombs has been totally repaired. The only thing revealing there even were bombs in the first place were the patches of dirt that grass had not grown onto yet. The festival decorations and stands had been taken down, but the ice rink and boxing arena had been left untouched.

Walking into town square, things looked surprisingly better. Bad and Karl were laying the pathways with redstone lanterns, cheerfully chatting all the while. Quackity is setting up posts with iron lanterns, giving the whole area a warm glow.

People keep staring at him, casting pitying looks. That’s probably appropriate. A lot of people did just see him get brutally murdered. A shiver rakes its way through his spine.

Apparently, Bad noticed him as well, beaming up at him, shouting and waving his way, “Heeeey! Tubbo! Come here, you little muffin!” The demon is much too welcoming to resist. Even during the worst days, BadBoyHalo is a tiny ray of sunshine, lightening the mood of all who have the pleasure of interacting with him.

Two black, furry arms wrap around him as soon as Tubbo enters hugging distance. He faintly realizes he’s getting more affection in recent times than he ever had with Tommy and Wilbur. It’s really nice, especially from Bad. His demonic form is supposed to be frightening, but it really just makes him an amazing hugger. He’s so soft, Tubbo just wants to stay wrapped in his arms forever.

“Uhh, Bad? I think you’re suffocating him,” Karl breaks the long silence. Really, Tubbo was just falling asleep in the unnaturally warm fur, but the kind demon pulls back anyway.

“Oh! Sorry. Just been a rough week,” he smiles nervously, tail anxiously wrapping around his thigh. The atmosphere weighs down as they continue, “I’m sorry about Tommy. Skeppy was just a little muffiny after I got blown up. You know how he gets. I’m surprised he even let me leave the house without him after that.”

Oh, no wonder he looked so nervous. Bad must have been caught in the explosion as well, and the young secretary suddenly feels guilty, even though he was just as much a victim. To be fair, he did tell Wilbur about the festival and even knew he set bombs up. The whole thing was partly his fault as well.

Noticing the sudden drop in mood, the demon cheers up, “Hey! Wanna help me and Karl put these lamps in the path? The president asked me to decorate around here to help lighten the mood.”

“I don’t think he meant that literally, Bad,” Karl snickers, and the pun makes Tubbo smile.

“Oh, haha. Very funny, you muffin head,” he elbows his companion, and they respond by dramatically falling to the ground.

“Ah, Bad! How could you? The only way I could possibly recover from this is a kiss to make my ouchies better!” the back of his hand rests exaggeratedly against his forehead.

The fluffy demon somehow finds a way to roll his completely white eyes, “Yeah, I am not doing that.” To prove this point, he returns to mining another spot on the side of the road.

“Cruel world! And now, I die,” he flops over, eyes shut and tongue popping out of his mouth. Quickly, he realizes he’s in the middle of town square again when someone almost steps on his face, yelping and jumping back up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now, are you gonna help or not?” he glows in his victory.

“Yeah, yeah,” the colorfully dressed human begrudgingly gets back to work, tossing the blonde kid watching him several lamps, making him stumble and quickly grasp wildly as to not drop them. Wordlessly, he joins the two men, copying their pattern. For a few minutes, they pave in comfortable silence.

Of course, no good thing can last.

“You gonna say anything at tonight’s ceremony?” Bad asks so softly, Tubbo almost misses the question.

“Uhh, what?”

“The vigil tonight. I assumed the president told you.”

He bites his lip, “No, he didn’t.”

Karl pipes in, “It’s to, ahem, _pay homage to those who suffered at the hands of Wilbur Soot._ ” His fingers make airs quotes as he smirks at the words.

Bad looks slightly offended, “Karl! It’s a nice thing Schlatt’s trying to do. Be respectful.”

The human in question seems unfazed, “Seems like a waste of time to me. People die _all_ the time. This is just a political stunt.”

“Well, not everyone is such a big tough guy, Mr. Death Means Nothing to Me,” the dark man huffs.

“Hey, what can I say? I’m battle hardened,” he smugly praises himself, flexing his muscles under his hoodie, which does nothing.

This is when Tubbo notices his direct messages rolling in at a rate of three per second. This could only be one person: Tommy.

_  
TUVVO  
TUBBO  
WHAT ARE  
YOU DOI  
NG  
I THOUGTH YOU’D BE IN POGTOGPIS  
BY NOW  
NUT I CAN UNDERSTAND  
*BUT  
IF YOU DON’T WANNA BE AROUND WILBUR  
TUBBO  
TUBBO  
T U B B O  
MEET ME AT THE ENTRANCE TO POFTIPOA TODAY  
PROMISE IT’SS BE JUST ME  
MAYVE TECHNO IF YOU’RE GOOD WITH THAT  
?  
?  
??  
??  
???  
????  
Okay you haven’t answered in three seconds so I’m gonna have to assume this is a yes.  
See ya  
I’ll be waiting.  
Okay?  
Tubbo????  
??????????????????????  
I WILL start stabbing shit if you don’t answer soon  
_

Despite himself, the kid covered his mouth to hide his smile at seeing his friend at their usual antics. Even so, he was contemplating not leaving at all. After his talk with Schlatt, it was hard to know what to believe anymore.

No, no. He was going to go. Having only one point of view was a bad idea. Tommy would talk some sense into him. Schlatt had to be manipulating him in a way he couldn’t see. Tommy would set this straight, make sense of things. Excusing himself, the teen ran off toward the woods that led to his second home. No, Pogtopia was his first home. He would need to be quick if he was going to make it back in time for the ceremony, if he was coming back at all.

\----------------------------------

Finally arriving, he collapses into an exhausted heap, lungs burning uncomfortably. The sensation is not a welcome one. Tommy is there, grinning and digging out the entrance for him. Grabbing him by the shoulders, his best friend helps him up, but that’s the extent of their physical contact. Tubbo knows he shouldn’t be disappointed. Tommy and Wilbur were never touchy feely, and he shouldn’t be upset at what makes them comfortable, but the tinge of sadness comes despite this.

“Fuck, I didn’t think Wilbur was gonna blow you up! Man’s gone crazy! Are you okay?” Tubbo nods in response, despite the fact that he really is not okay, at all.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asks hopefully.

“…I don’t know, but we can’t abandon Wilbur when he needs us most. He just needs some time to calm down, and then we’ll take back L’Manburg together. It just needs some time,” Tommy is yapping on like he’s completely unsure with what he’s saying, but wants to believe it, wants to convince himself.

“You… still wanna put him back in power?” the teen voices his disbelief.

Loud as always, “Well, we can’t just leave _JSchlatt_ in power. Look what he’s done to our country! It’s pure evil.” He sighs, “Look, Wilbur is like a brother to us. We’re not gonna abandon him just because he’s going through a rough patch.”

Now, this makes Tubbo upset, “A rough patch? Tommy, he bombed me and then half the citizens of Manburg!”

The younger blonde is taken aback by this. Tubbo was more of a yes man, rarely objecting to anything he said. Really, it was hard to remember Tubbo was his senior when the boy was much more mild mannered and almost a full foot shorter. Right now, he was beginning to be reminded of this fact.

“He’s a terrorist! That’s what they do, they strike fear in the hearts of the innocent. And guess what, Tommy? _I’m scared._ Everyone keeps looking over their shoulders every other second to make sure Wilbur isn’t there with a bomb or flint and steel, including me, and you want to make him _leader?_ ”

“What are you saying?”

“All I’m suggesting is maybe we respect the election and laws of the country we worked so hard to build?”

The taller teen looks as if he’d been burned, and _god,_ isn’t that ironic?

“Wilbur needs us right now! He’s going crazy because he feels he can’t trust anyone. We can’t leave him now!” he’s shouting now.

“What about me? How am _I_ supposed to trust _him_ after he blew my legs off?”

“You don’t need to trust him; you just need to be there for him!”

He closes his eyes for a moment, thinking. When he finally answers, his voice is much quieter than before.

“…I- I can’t, Tommy. I’m sorry,” staring down the cold stone floor.

Tommy’s voice loses its heat too, “Y- you’re betraying us?”

They’re whispering now, “I’m not betraying you. I just don’t think this is a good idea…”

They stand in silence for a while before Tubbo decides it’s enough. Turning, he says one last thing before taking off.

“…Wilbur betrayed me when he murdered me. Still feel free to contact me. I still love you, Tommy. You’ll always be my best friend, no matter what happens. Don’t forget that… Message me if anything major happens.”

Tommy watches his friend’s hair reflect the setting sun as he leaves. Honestly, there’s no way he can blame him or be completely mad, but that doesn’t stop the disappointment from soaking into his every muscle, making him feel weak enough to sink to the hard, unforgiving floor.

Techno isn’t very good at the whole “comforting friends” thing, so he just watches sympathetically, noticing the fox hybrid disappear into the bushes. He should probably say something, but too afraid he might say the wrong thing, he simply bites his tongue and decides to make his comrade an extra baked potato for tonight. The kid liked them with extra salt and butter.

\----------------------------------

By the time Tubbo makes it back to Manburg, the sun has nearly set. A soft glow is cast over the entire country as the lanterns set a warm sheen over everything. It’s quite nice, relaxing even. It’s exactly what Tubbo needs after the day he’s had. Sighing, he massages his temples.

A clearing to the left of the marketplace draws his attention, much brighter than the rest of the city. It’s near a lake, with candles reflecting off the cool surface. Some are floating on the water in wooden boats. Some surround the group of people gathering near the shore. George is even here, not sleeping through an important event for once. Quackity is at his side, and Fundy appears to be whispering something to Schlatt. Speaking of the president, he was looking… kinda cute.

Never in his 16 years did the secretary of state think he would refer to the president as _cute,_ but he really was. Instead of his hair being usually combed back, it lightly crowned his face, gently curled. Poppies are tied around his horns, and his entire suit is muted, dark grey instead of black, with the tie a much less striking red. Even his tail, which was usually covered, was out for all to see. Honestly, Tubbo didn’t even know Schlatt had a tail at all. A large candle is in his hands, head turned down toward it with his eyes closed. All in all, he seems much gentler, more approachable, expression softly shifting as he processes whatever Fundy is telling him.

When the fox hybrid stops, adjusting his jacket and walking off, Sclatt’s eyes immediately focus on Tubbo, as if he already knew he were there. Everyone notices at once, parting the way for the young cabinet member as if Schlatt’s stare was Moses. Hesitantly, he approaches, aware of all the eyes on him.

“Hey, Tubbs. Where you been?” the question seems innocent enough, but there’s something else in those eyes that makes him stop in his tracks.

“Uhh, just helping set lights up,” he can’t help but nervously tug at his hair while answering.

The only response is a knowing, “Hmm,” and nothing else. The teen doesn’t know whether to feel relieved for that or not. Schlatt hasn’t stopped smiling at him since he opened his eyes, and he should probably be happy at this, but it just sets off alarm bells ringing in his head.

It’s probably fine. He’s just so used to thinking of the president as evil, registering the man as doing something innocent is challenging. The blonde breathes, willing the tension out of his body. It’s okay. He’s fine. Schlatt’s okay.

Once again, the hybrid surprises him by pulling him into a tight embrace, an arm wrapped around his waist while another hand rests atop his head, tangling in his golden locks. And, wow, he didn’t know he and Schlatt were like _that,_ but the dark-haired man seems to think so at least.

It’s sort of intimidating, being so close to such a strong man, in more ways than one. Schlatt towers over him, standing at 6’3 while himself stands at only 5’4. He vaguely notes that Schlatt and Tommy are the same height.

_Why does he feel so safe?_

“Did you want to say anything at this ceremony? I understand if you don’t,” he whispers down, kindly.

“I didn’t really realize there would be a thing until a couple hours ago, so I don’t really have anything to say,” he forces his voice to sound content. “Maybe if I think of something.”

“Alight. Just let me know then. Glad you _joined us,_ ” he muses and then pulls away. Tubbo doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about this.

Walking toward the crowd, the president settles for clearing his throat instead of tapping on a microphone.

Schlatt takes on that gentle yet firm tone Tubbo recognizes, “My fellow Manburgians, we are gathered here today in mourning. Now, while we have technically not permanently lost anyone, does that mean we are not allowed to feel loss?” He lets the rhetorical question hang in the air for a second, “Well, I personally disagree with this notion. We’ve lost. We’ve lost our sense of security. We’ve lost our comfort. And most importantly, we’ve lost a great friend. Wilbur Soot was a founding father of Manburg, the general who led the war effort. I know many of you fought under him, and it pains me to know that he would so readily betray your trust. He revealed himself yesterday to be nothing more than a power-hungry tyrant who would stop at nothing, not even the lives of his own people, to reclaim power. Now, I didn’t think much of him, but I would be lying to say this isn’t a disappointment to me as well.”

The president shifts his tone to something more determined, “But if I know one thing, it’s that Manburg is strong. This strength does not lie in walls or seats of government as Wilbur may so believe. No, Manburg’s strength lies in its people, in you. When all hope seemed lost in the war for independence, you persevered. When tyrants threatened this land, you persevered. And now? We’ll persevere once more. Another tyrant threatens our democracy. A terrorist wants us to cower in fear, to fall apart, but I know better than that. We’re stronger than that, my fellow citizens. And at the end of the day, I know we will remain standing, stronger than ever. I know you can do it, and I’ll do everything in my power to ensure it. Tonight, I will be holding a vigil to show my resolve and express my mourning. You are welcome to join me, but remember this is me proving myself to all of you. Don’t worry about staying, because you’ve already proven yourselves just by coming here today. Thank you.”

There’s silence for a few heartbeats, and then the crowd breaks out into a thunderous applause, whooping and hollering. Some people are shouting “that’s my president!” and Schlatt is having an incredibly hard time hiding how pleased he is. There’s no way anybody can follow that, so the rest of the cabinet simply clap along.

When the noise finally dies down, most people get up and leave, but some appear so inspired, they stay to watch throughout the night, silently chatting amongst themselves and playing games. The president sits alone, legs crossed and eyes closed, candle lit between his legs. The secretary of state has never seen him so peaceful.

George immediately left for bed after the speech was over, and Quackity seems to have settled for finding a comfortable place in the grass to lay down on, dozing off, beanie used as a pillow. Tubbo takes it upon himself to sit down next to his president, crossing his legs in a similar manner.

He speaks softly as not to disturb the man, “That was fantastic, Schlatt.”

He grins but does not open his eyes as he speaks, “Really? That’s good to hear, because I made most of that up on the fly.” Quiet laughter shakes through him.

The young official is shocked, “Seriously? But it was so good!”

“That’s what it takes to be president, Tubbo. You gotta know how to tell people what they wanna hear,” he says simply.

Tubbo doesn’t know what to say, but he wants to impress people like Schlatt does, so he sits in the same position, legs crossed and closed eyes facing downward. Nothing more is said, and he falls asleep listening to the tired chatter of dozens of people. When he wakes up, he’s in his bed at the White House, no idea how he got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering how things are being built so quickly, while this world is much more "real world" than Minecraft, there are also elements from the game in there. Their universe exists as a mix between ours and Minecraft. Hope this was good, because I wrote it at 5 am aha. <3 Thanks for reading.


	4. Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt decides to give his right hand man more responsibility and trust.

Sometimes it can be really easy to forget that Schlatt isn’t human. Well, okay, the horns and ears are a dead giveaway, but Schlatt’s behavior is mostly human. He doesn’t do anything that screams “hybrid,” in Tubbo’s opinion. That’s why it’s still really off-putting walking in on him biting into an entire head of lettuce. In another hand is a pen, probably signing important documents, Tubbo supposes. There are dark bags under his eyes from staying up all night, and he’s not even wearing a suit, which is also really weird. The secretary of state had never seen him without one. In its place is an oversized blue sweater and sweatpants. The flowers are still tangled in his horns, and a few red petals have fallen into his messy hair.

Fuck, why was he so cute? Usually, the man’s appearance was intimidating, giving him the likeness of a demon. Now, his soft ears and tail just made him look like an adorable little lamb.

The hybrid must have noticed him staring, waving him in, “Tubbo! Come in. Sit.”

Only a little hesitantly, he obeys. Normally, he would simply stay quiet and wait for the president to tell him what to do, but this time, he feels a lot freer to voice his own thoughts with Schlatt looking a lot less foreboding.

“Hey, Schlatt. You still doing paperwork after staying up all night?” he voices his concern, brow arching.

“A president’s work is never done, Tubbo,” his lighthearted tone is weighed down by exhaustion.

“If you say so, Mr. President,” even appearing so harmless, the kid knew better than to question his quick-tempered leader.

“I _do_ say so. Anyway, I have a job for you.” Tubbo’s gaze picks up, interest piqued.

“I need to you meet with Dream and inform him that Manburg is expanding.”

He suddenly fell into a coughing fit, feeling as if he were knocked off his feet, “Wha- what?”

“Manburg is expanding westward, and I want you to tell Dream,” he speaks calmly.

The kid’s voice increases a few notches in pitch, “We’re expanding? And you want _me_ to tell Dream? Why?”

There’s a reassuring hand on his shoulder now, “Tubbo, you’re my secretary of state. Your job is literally foreign affairs. As for why we’re expanding, it only makes sense. That land is out there, ripe for the taking. Why not?”

The words become jumbled in his throat, “W- well. The Dream SMP and us have a peace treaty. Expanding might cause war.”

The president rests back in his chair, “Yeah, yeah. I read that thing a few times. However, Dream specifically states we are not allowed to impede upon his land. If we expand away from his place, then we aren’t violating the terms and agreements.”

This feels like a technicality, a technicality Dream will _not_ like, and Tubbo does _not_ want to be the one to tell a power-hungry tyrant they would be taking more land.

“Are- are you sure this is a good idea?” and he regrets the question as soon as it comes out of his mouth, because he realizes he just questioned the president’s decisions, and now Schlatt would probably yell at him or call him an idiot or something.

“Tubbo.” Oh no. “One of my first decrees as president was to tear down the walls. I didn’t do it just because I thought they felt suffocating. They _were_ suffocating, suffocating our growth,” he explains easily. Tubbo releases the breath he was holding. “Besides, I know things will go well with you telling Dream.”

“Huh? Me? Why?” he’s confused.

A scoff, “I didn’t make you secretary of state just to spite Wilbur, Tubbo. I did it because I know you’re capable. Haven’t you done stuff like this under the last administration?”

And the blonde hunches his shoulders, because he doesn’t want to disappoint the president by saying no, but he knows better than to lie, “N-no. Not really. My position was just a title. Wilbur didn’t really let me do anything.”

Schlatt does look disappointed, but not in him, “That’s a shame, a shame they were stifling your potential! I’ll have to make sure that doesn’t happen again. You deserve to be appreciated much more than they think.”

He can’t help the grin spreading across his face, “Thank you, Schlatt.”

A hand waves the appreciation away, “Yeah, don’t worry about it, kid. Anyway, I want you to bring this copy of the record where Dream declares we can expand west if Manburg wants. Oh, and you should probably bring George with you.”

Grabbing the paper, he asks, “George? Why him?”

“George is a close friend of Dream. He’ll probably be more willing to listen with him there.”

“Ah, makes sense. So, when’s the, uh, meeting?”

Schlatt is laughing again, “When’s the meeting? Whenever you want. You’re gonna schedule it.”

“Oh, so I just message Dream that I wanna talk?”

“Do whatever you want, but it should probably be arranged by the end of the week,” taking another mouthful of lettuce. It was Sunday, so Tubbo had plenty of time. Alright, he could do this. Arranging something important and then being in charge of a meeting was entirely new territory for him, but Schlatt’s words made him self-confident.

He sounds confident too, “I won’t let you down, Mr. President!”

Smiling, “I know you won’t, kid.”

Turning to his office, he says one last thing, glancing over his shoulder, “Oh, and Schlatt?”

“Yeah?”

He offers a small smile, “Thank you.” The hybrid returns the gesture, looking so innocent. He could almost forget how cutthroat they acted only a week ago.

\--------------------------------

Paperwork is so boring. He has no idea how the president or Quackity does it for hours on end. Most of it is repetitive or incredibly wordy. There’s far too much legal work to be done after Schlatt banned the slaughtering and consumption of sheep. After far too many mind-numbing hours, it’s lunch time. Stretching out all his limbs and cracking his knuckles, he moves to exit the White House before running into Quackity.

“Twobo!”

“Big Q!” The taller man comes forward with a pair of outstretched arms, and they hug for a brief moment. The number of hugs he’s been getting recently is making him far too upbeat, lighting up instantly.

“¡Holaaaa, señor! Wanna go grab some lunch together? I was gonna go with George but he, you know,” he demonstrates, resting a head on his hands and imitating snoring.

He moves to walk next to the vice president, “Really? Again? Do you think he’s okay?”

The door opens, and now they’re walking towards town square, “Okay? I know George is a bit of an idiot sometimes, but I think he’s doing just fine.”

“I meant mentally.”

Quackity looks a bit taken aback by this, like he never even considered that, “Oh, uh, when did you become a therapist?” Tubbo gives him a look, and he puts his hands up in defense, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I just never saw George as depressed. I dunno, maybe I should talk with him… just to make sure he’s okay.” Tubbo offers his friend an encouraging smile.

They walk in comfortable silence until the blonde points to a possible restaurant they could try. Quackity does not seem as amused.

“No. I am not going there. Schlatt always takes me there and then eats an absurd amount of carrots. Pass.”

Tubbo giggles, “Well, where do you wanna go then?”

“Holy shit, we should go to a steak house. I love them, but you know. Vegetarian president.”

He’s pleasantly glowing again, “You think that’s bad? I just walked in on him biting into an entire head of lettuce.”

Quackity bends down to speak low like he’s sharing top secret information, “One time, I saw him eat an entire banana with the peel.”

Tubbo can’t help it; he bursts out laughing at that, because, fuck, that sounds ridiculous. The vice president follows behind him, the good mood contagious. The blonde has to grab onto the other’s suit jacket to stay upright from the force of his laughter, losing breath.

When they enter the restaurant, Tubbo can immediately feel the atmosphere change. It’s just one of the things that come with being in power, people straightening their backs and trying their very best to please you. Although, it’s been a bit different after the festival. People have started being gentler with him. They probably all feel bad that the young teenager was exploded and has so much responsibility.

He doesn’t know how to feel about it, doesn’t know how to feel about a lot of things. On one hand, it’s sweet. On the other, it’s slightly annoying to be treated like glass, able to break at any moment. People look at him and just see some poor innocent child caught in the middle of a war, but he’s more than that. Schlatt never looks at him like that.

When Quackity orders steak, Tubbo orders salmon. It’s kind of stupid, really, but he’s always ordered the same thing as Tommy or whoever else he was eating with before. He wants to try being more independent, his own person, even if it’s something simple like this.

Baby steps.

“So, Twobo,” Quackity starts, “The big man still givin you a hard time? He seems a lot less… grouchy recently.”

“Oh, well, he’s been acting unusually friendly lately. Which is weird, cause I thought being blown up by a bomb would have the opposite effect.”

“Maybe he saw Notch,” and the teen has to snort at that one.

There’s a lull in the conversation, so now might be as good a time as any to bring it up.

“Schlatt wants me to meet with Dream to talk about expansions to Manburg.”

The Latino almost gags on his water, loudly forcing it down his throat, “Like, _you?_ By yourself? With _Dream?_ ”

Apprehensively, “Yuuuup. Well, with George, if he can wake himself up. I’ve a week to make plans with Dream. I’ll probably just message him. Any ideas?”

“You want my help?” He nods.

“Okay, first of all, didn’t expect Schlatt to give you so much responsibility. I mean, you _are_ secretary of state, but… it’s just kinda unexpected ya know?”

He lets a bit of annoyance slip out, “You don’t think I’m capable?”

Quackity puts his hands up once more, “No, no. It’s just… a big jump to make, immediately going from paperwork to talking to _Dream_ about something so… delicate.” The young secretary can tell he’s picking words very carefully as not to offend him. It makes him sound dishonest.

“Anyway, I think you should be careful with your wording. Maybe try ambiguous. Something like _hey Dream. Are you free anytime next week? I wanted to meet with you to talk about foreign policy_ or some shit. And then when you get there, I dunno. Maybe be friendly and downplay all the serious stuff, but still try being somewhat professional.”

Despite the fact he _is_ a little insulted, he can’t say he doesn’t appreciate the help.

“Thanks, Big Q,” offering the most earnest smile he can muster. Quackity smiles back, and he resolves himself to prove everyone who doesn’t believe in him wrong.

\--------------------------------

They’re walking back home when the sight of bees distracts the teen. He’s so distracted in fact, he loses his footing and his ankle makes a horrible crunching noise. Quackity swiftly grabs him before he can fall over as he sucks the air in through his teeth. While it does hurt, he has participated in MCC many times. The pain is much less than what he’s used to, but it still _hurts_ , and he can’t really walk without his taller companion there to lean on.

He really needs to stop getting annoyed by people helping him.

The first thing the vice president does upon arriving to the White House is slam it open dramatically and shout, “Schlatt! Mi amor! Bring healing potions ASAP!”

The president stumbles in, incredibly tired and ears laid back. There’s a beer bottle in his hands.

“Huh? What the fuck happened?” he slurs out.

“Twobo tripped on a rock and I think broke his ankle.”

“Oh. Aight, just sit him down somewhere.”

He’s placed on Schlatt’s desk, and the president comes over, but he isn’t holding any potions. The hybrid simply rests his hands very carefully on his injury.

A look of realization flashes over Quackity’s face, “Uhh, Schlatt, are you sure? You seem a little out of it, and I dunno if this is a good idea.” Why does he look so nervous all of a sudden?

“Yeah, it’s fine. Trust me,” they share a strange look, making the teen even more unsure of what’s happening.

Schlatt goes back to staring intensely at his ankle, like he can see through him. The teen feels a little uncomfortable being inspected so sharply, awkwardly fidgeting. Then the area where the hybrid’s hands are gets warm, then hot, and then REALLY fuckin hot. It’s like he’s on fire again, and wow, that memory was _not_ okay. He desperately tries yanking his leg away, but Schlatt’s grip is firm.

Hyperventilating again, he gasps, “Let- let me go.”

“Shh, shh. Calm down. I’m healing you. You’re okay.” And he’s trying, he’s really trying, but he just _can’t._ He knows for a fact that it’s okay, that he’s safe, but there’s a strange disconnect between his mind and body, making him freak out and try to kick free. Schlatt catches him with an alert hand.

“Also, if you kick me in the face, I’m throwing you in jail,” he deadpans. _That_ made him freeze in his tracks. Ironic how harshness cleared his head better than kindness. As his breaths even out, Schlatt finally lets go. He doesn’t even pull away. Lightly shaking still, he peers down.

The ankle is completely healed.

In disbelief, he jumps down, putting full weight upon it. There’s no pain, no pain whatsoever. One step, and then another, and he spins around to gape at his president.

“What the hell?” his voice cracks in pure bewilderment. “How-“

“Magic. I healed you with magic,” he says proudly, looking smug, arms crossing with satisfaction.

“But- but only monsters can use magic!”

“Hmm, you have a lot to learn,” and with that, he turns. There’s an apple in his hands that wasn’t there a moment ago, and all he does is take a bite and wink at the kid before sauntering out of the room, leaving him absolutely speechless.

“¡Mierda! I cannot believe he just did that!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good pacing? Never heard of her. Anyway, sorry for the irregular updates uwu but I have college and work sooo oof. Comments are appreciated <3 Thanks for reading. Hope y'all had a happy Halloween.


	5. Can I Get A Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby's first politicking ft. Pissbaby Dream.

Today was the day. Today he would be meeting with Dream. While putting on a brave face, in truth he was absolutely terrified. There was so much to think about, so much to worry about.

First of all was Schlatt’s ability to do magic. Searching around his secret library, there actually was some information, but not a great deal. Apparently, it was possible for people to do magic, but it’s a very rare ability. It does seem to be hereditary, but most accounts depict people gaining magic through some dark pact. For those discovered to be supernatural, they are usually cast out by their peers. This is why not much is known; it’s normally kept a secret.

This puts Tubbo in an odd spot, because it’s an enormous secret Schlatt has let him in on. And while he’s tempted to tell Tommy, he remembers the last time he revealed confidential information to Pogtopia.

A shiver wracks through him.

More important are the implications this brings. The president clearly trusts him, trusts him enough to reveal a life ruining secret. Tubbo doesn’t know if he would be able to live with the guilt of betraying someone so brutally.

Speaking of Tommy, he hasn’t heard from his best friend since he quit being a spy almost two weeks ago.

He told Tommy he could still contact him, but the boy has been giving him the silent treatment ever since. It’s almost worrying; usually the taller blonde can never keep his mouth shut for long, not even when he wants to. Now it’s eerily silent.

He wishes Tommy would talk to him and say everything is alright, that Schlatt would finally stop answering his questions with vague references, and that Dream would hurry the hell up. He was only a few minutes late, but the teen wanted to get this over with already so they could all go home. The meeting was on enemy territory, and that made him even more nervous. He hadn’t set foot on Dream’s land since the war. The ride here had been met with critical gazes. Giving an air of confidence and strength is rough when an entire country distrusts you. He has no idea how Schlatt did it.

It’s a bit better with George here next to him, suit donned. While it was a bit too big on him, Tubbo’s just thankful he could get him out of his t-shirt and jeans. He certainly still stood out from the rest of the cabinet, suit blue and a bit large on him, tie not solidly colored, blue with white stripes. He even left his oversized glasses on. Tubbo wondered what his job even was.

Hopefully, Dream would be just as happy to reunite with George as George no doubt was with Dream. Quackity talked with him, and apparently George was depressed being away from his friends for so long. He can’t blame him, he sort of feels the same way.

Dream at last shows up, Eret and Sapnap in tow. Eret, king that he is, is in his royal jacket and crown, looking very regal. On the other hand, Dream and Sapnap were in the same thing they always wore. The three friends must have some sort of propensity toward this kind of thing. George is starting to look more uncomfortable in his outfit, and the young secretary motions him over to sit next to him. Originally, he was planning to let his partner stand back there if he wanted, but the three powerful men before him were too anxiety inducing.

Instead, he goes up to group hug his two friends with a smile, looking so much happier than he ever did in Manburg. It makes the blonde feel bad. While George _did_ willingly enter the election and join the country, he was probably in a bit over his head.

Dream mussed his friend’s hair while Sapnap said he looked like a dork.

“You’re just jealous at how much more fabulous I look than you,” he flaunts, straightening his tie and parading back to his seat, head held high. Meanwhile, Tubbo’s reunion with Eret was going much less warmly.

“Eret,” he addresses the man, holding out his hand.

It’s accepted, and the king offers his own awkward greeting, “Tubbo. You doing well under Schlatt? I heard what happened at the festival…” He rubs the back of his hair guiltily, head turned to the side. That’s right, they hadn’t seen each other since the war, the sting of betrayal keeping the distance between them.

But now they were both traitors. Even so, the monarch appeared to feel somewhat responsible for what happened.

“Yeah… I still can’t believe Wilbur did that. Anyway, things are going surprisingly well with Schlatt. He really stepped up after the disaster,” the tone of his voice contributes to the tension, polar opposite to the other side of the room.

“Good. That’s good,” he pauses, unsure if he should continue. Eventually, he bites his lip and makes up his mind, “You probably don’t trust me after what I did, but I just wanted to let you know… if you ever need a place to stay, my castle is open wide for you.”

Well, that’s a surprise. Eret and him were good friends, though. Just because he betrayed them, didn’t mean all of his love suddenly disappeared.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Eret, but Manburg is my home.” He simply nods at that, and each return to their respective sides at the table. Tubbo waits for Dream to start.

“So, what did you wanna talk about? All you said was that it was about _serious foreign policy concerns_ , so…”

He takes a deep breath, readying himself, “Yes, well, I just wanted to establish an understanding between us. I haven’t brought any papers to sign or plans for agreements.”

Dream chuckles in that confident way of his, “You went through all this trouble for an understanding? Better be an important one.”

“It’s about the expansions to Manburg.”

The tyrant drops his smile at that. Tubbo should be unhappy with the mood change, but the fact that Dream has started taking him seriously is too satisfying.

“ _Expansions?_ What expansions? We made a treaty for your country to be free where it was.”

He can’t help the little smirk, “Well, actually, the agreement states we remain free as long as we don’t trespass on your land. The unclaimed wilderness to the west is not off limits.” Once he brings out the scroll, Dream immediately snatches it out of his hands, scrutinizing it. His eyes dart back and forth behind the holes in his mask. After a couple minutes, he sets it down on the dark oak table. His mouth gives nothing away, and any expressions that may be higher up on his face are blocked by the mask.

Voice even, “Hmm, it would seem you’re right. Okay, _fine._ But if I see you come anywhere near my land, there will be problems, and I just wanted to let you know I am _not_ happy about this. Do _not_ overstep your boundaries.”

“Manburg isn’t particularly happy with what happened at the festival, either,” there’s a bite to his voice, and the small amount of Dream’s face he can see pales.

“What are you talking about?”

“The festival. I know you were the one who gave Wilbur the TNT. I know you did it to weaken Manburg even after you promised to leave us alone. If anyone has violated the peace treaty, it’s you, and I just wanted to let you know, I am _not_ happy about being blown up,” he’s glaring intensely, posture straightened and head raised. Dream was unreadable, but Tubbo knew he was probably floored right now. As far as Dream knew, no one in Manburg was aware of what he did, and he didn’t know he used to be a spy for Pogtopia. The blonde wasn’t there when the masked man showed up.

“That’s quite the baseless accusation. Do you have any proof of this ridiculous little theory of yours?”

“Tommy told me.”

“And you believe him? That little maniac child is a liar. I don’t know why you’d trust him after all the things he’s done.”

“And where else would Wilbur get the explosives? He’s not the kind of guy who could get that much gunpowder. But you? You are, and I know Tommy better than anyone else, better than the back of my hand. I know when he’s lying, and he isn’t,” he refuses to let up, to back down. If he’s going to be in a position of power, he had better show he was capable. He didn’t earn the position by being weak.

George sounds like he doesn’t want to believe it, “Dream…?”

His silence is answer enough.

Eret decides it’s time to step in, “I can honestly say I had no idea about this, and I deeply apologize. I imagine you want reparations, and I am more than happy to grant you any reasonable request. We want to right these wrongs.” The king looks furious, and Dream withers back into his seat, ashamed. Despite everything, Eret still cared about Tubbo, and hearing that the tyrant hurt him seriously pissed him off. The kid didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve anything bad that happened to him. Opposing powers kept getting him hurt in this fucked up game of chess, and it wasn’t fair. The king was sick of it.

The secretary of state’s bitter demeanor vanished instantly. This was entirely unexpected. He hadn’t even planned to say any of that before coming here; it was spur of the moment. This was supposed to be a relatively pleasant meeting, but Dream’s high and mighty attitude downright offended him after knowing what he had done, and now there was an unexpected decision to make, a serious one at that. Put on the spot, he mulled it over in his brain.

Should he ask for land? No, that wouldn’t accomplish anything. They had permission to expand into as much untamed land as desired, and it wasn’t like SMP land was particularly valuable. All that would achieve is a power play, however, Manburg was the victim in this situation. It would be best to not take any aggressive action as to maintain that innocent reputation.

Money? Schlatt would sure like that. Moreover, he couldn’t really think of anything else to ask for as direct compensation. Finance was not something the teen knew, so maybe asking Eret to give whatever amount he deemed fair would work? Given the ruler’s reaction, a reasonable amount would most likely be offered, and it would come off as less demanding, furthering Manburg’s virtuous standing here.

It doesn’t seem like enough, though. He feels like there’s something else he should ask for, something to really turn the tables in the country’s favor.

“Diamonds and gold seem fair, any amount you think is appropriate, Eret.”

The king nods his approval, “I’ll make sure they’re sent with you on your way back home.”

The teen gathers his courage before what he asks for next, “And I want an official apology from Dream in chat to all the citizens of Manburg.”

Dream was clearly agitated with the proposal, flinching and voice distressed, “Eret, you can’t actually-“

“Dream, you can’t possibly be saying that you blew up half of Manburg and are refusing to even say fucking sorry?” his tone left no room for discussion.

Disguised as wanting a simple apology, Tubbo was really asking for an admission of guilt to the entire world. His lifetime of being regarded as the good guy was really coming into use here. The more people felt sorry for Manburg being caught in the crossfire of a sadistic game of chess, the better.

The masked man took his time writing out an apology, trying to sound sincerely regretful, but the damage had already been done, and the only thing anyone cared about was what the apology was for.

\--------------------------------

Helping attach carts of gold coins and diamonds to their horses, Sapnap and Eret waved goodbye to the foreign dignitaries while Dream stood back in the shadows, arms crossed and frowning. Despite everything, George went over to hug his friends, face somber. Tubbo did the same with Eret, thanking the man as he patted his head. Giving final goodbyes, the pair rode off into the sunset, one content and another troubled.

As it became dark, the kid wondered if Schlatt would be as proud of him as he was with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eret: "You kinda gotta take responsibility for helping commit mass murder."
> 
> Dream: >:c no talk to me I'm a n g y
> 
> PS: I don't reply to most comments but that's not bc I don't appreciate y'all. I appreciate every single one <3 I just get shy and don't know what to say aha sorry :)


	6. Dirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, but I think it ends in the right place.

When Tubbo returns to the White House, the overpowering scent of lavender crashes into him. A wave of relaxation rolls through him, starting with his shoulders and ending at his toes, uncurling calmly. George shoves right past him and marches to his room without a word. Who could blame him? It was the middle of the night and the day had undoubtedly drained every last bit of his mental energy. The door slams behind him, leaving the building eerily silent. Everyone should be asleep, but the young secretary knows better.

Approaching the president’s office, it isn’t even closed, yellow light and the acrid smell of cigar smoke tangles in with the lavender haze. For some reason, the more Schlatt grew on him, the less the smoke seemed to bother him.

The hybrid’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree, “Oh, Tubbo! You’ve made it back.”

Automatically, he’s walking over and sitting down in a chair opposite side of the dark oak desk. Even though there’s nothing to be nervous about, the teen automatically feels anxious around the much taller man towering over him.

“So… I saw Dream’s message. What was that about?” he’s not saying it in that threatening way he usually asks questions. He’s actually curious, head tilting to the side.

“Well, I accused Dream of giving Wilbur the TNT used to blow up the festival and he admitted it,” he recalls nonchalantly, hoping Schlatt wouldn’t question him on that too deeply. To his surprise, there’s no question whatsoever.

“Wait, really?” his voice pitches up in that way it does when he’s amused. “Hold up, how’d ya do that?”

“Uhh… I just sorta yelled at him until he admitted it.”

The hybrid is smiling now, “No fuckin way… What else? I assume this means you got emoji mask boy to agree to the whole expansion thing?”

He tries to sound as confident as possible, forcing a smile, “Yeah! Oh, and I also got Eret to give us gold for all the terrorism and peace treaty violation stuff.”

Schlatt suddenly pushes himself up, excitement pouring out of him like smoke, “Yeah? Oh, you’re gonna have to show me this, Tubbo.” He gets up and for once, Tubbo is leading the way. The night air is cool and refreshing, the muddled aromas from indoors fading away to spruce and fallen leaves. A self-assured smile creeping into his cheeks as he rips the tarp from the back of the wooden horse carts. Moonlight shines off the president’s eyes, reflected by two piles of gold and diamonds.

His hands clasp together in genuine glee as he whips around to face the blonde, features ecstatic. He was even slightly bouncing on his feet. If anything could make the businessman happy, it was material wealth.

“Tubbo.”

“Yes, Schlatt?”

He shuts his eyes and beams, “I couldn’t be happier with you.”

He bows his head, blushing deeply, “Thank you, Schlatt.”

As they carry money inside into the chest room, the hybrid won’t stop staring at him, small smile stuck on his lips and ears perked up. He has this strange look on his face, eyes squinted and full of secrets. It reminds him of how he was looking at Schlatt before his festival speech.

The silence is broken, “I ever tell you how I learned magic, Tubbo?”

Looking up now, “No, Schlatt. Actually, you’ve been avoiding telling me that for a while now.”

A low chuckle echoes through the room, “Well, how about I tell you now?” He pauses to take the information in, and then jumps up, excitedly nodding.

“Yes! Yes, Schlatt. Though, uhh, you don’t have to tell me if you’re uncomfortable or something.”

“Pfft, c’mon,” there’s a hand settled on his shoulder, leading him into the president’s office. Once inside, he moves to sit down once more while Schlatt closes the door behind him, locking it.

“You know, Tubbo,” he begins, strolling toward his seat, “I didn’t always used to be a ram hybrid.”

Now that makes no sense, “What? But hybrids are born that way.”

The president hums, “Most are. But me? I was born human, but one day when I was 16, I was presented with an opportunity, so I took it, and look at where it got me!” Arms open wide and gesture to everything.

“Ah, sir, I’m not sure I understand.”

“I was offered unspeakable amounts of power in exchange for my humanity, and I said yes. More specifically, I took a bite of forbidden fruit,” he’s leaning over his desk now, hands cupped together. A light flashes between the palms and something is forming. Tubbo is mesmerized as it expands and becomes what appears to be a shiny golden apple. He’s never seen any human perform such a feat, dumbstruck with awe. The fruit is gently placed between the pair on the dark wood.

“Un- unspeakable amounts of power?”

No words are spoken. The sorcerer simply winks at him and walks to the door, opening it and pointing to a window before snapping a pair of fingers. At first, nothing happens, and the teen is confused. Then a few raindrops start to fall, and then it’s storming, and finally it’s pouring. Trees shake and grass whips in the force of it, wind picking up speed. The door slides closed as Schlatt returns to his seat, looking extremely satisfied with the young secretary’s astonishment. There wasn’t a single hint of fear in his expression, a promising sign.

With a glance upward, the light switches off, plunging the windowless room into darkness. The blonde gasps as candles around the room flicker to life with an outstretched arm whirling around, fire coming to wherever that hand directed. Dim candlelight was all that illuminated the easy confidence on the sorcerer’s face.

His stomach twists as he gets a dreadful feeling of having entered the belly of the beast, in the lair of some powerful mage. The thick incense smoke, soft candlelight, and perfumed lavender certainly helped with that mystical and forbidden aura.

The world decides to start spinning once more, “People who eat the fruit are naturally inclined toward elemental magic, but I know a bit about healing spells, as you know. Different deals cause distinct specializations. For example, I heard those who sign contracts are particularly good with laying curses. People who sacrifice blood are good with conjuration.”

Notch, this was a lot of information to take in all at once.

He shakily nods toward the golden fruit in front of him, “Is- is that a normal apple?”

“It isn’t. Your performance today really impressed me. I underestimated you. Everyone has underestimated you all your life, but not anymore. I want you to show everyone your true potential,” he insists enthusiastically, pushing the apple toward the younger.

He accepts it gingerly but doesn’t raise it to his mouth quite yet.

His voice is skeptical, “Isn’t magic forbidden for a reason?”

The hybrid snorts, “People are always unaccepting of things they don’t understand. Almost everyone knows enchanting magic, but no one is called a demon or disowned over that.” Arms are crossed as he glares at a candle to his side, the flame glowing brighter. Tubbo wonders if that statement is based on experience.

“…Will I become like you if I do it?”

"Like me?” he laughs, “Tubbo, it almost sounds like you think being a hybrid is a bad thing. Damn, didn’t know you were a human supremacist.”

“No! No… Can I just get some time to think about this?”

“Of course, kid. I’m not gonna force you! Do I look like a bad guy to you? I just want to offer you an opportunity. It’s up to you whether or not you take advantage of it.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” he slowly pushes his chair back and stands on unsure feet, taking one last look at Schlatt before running off to his room to think, the apple weighing heavily in his grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will he eat it?


	7. &

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo makes up his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is graphic. You have been warned.

If it weren’t for the incredibly relaxing bouquets of lavender strewn about his room, Tubbo is sure he’d be having an anxiety attack right now, frantically pacing back and forth. The golden fruit causing him so much trouble is resting innocently on his dresser. He can’t help glancing at it every so often before resuming his mad back and forth.

Halfway tempted to simply hand it back to Schlatt and tell him to ask again later, frustration creeps up behind him unnoticed. He wasn’t ready for such a major decision. He just _wasn’t ready._ Why did Schlatt think he was? Why did anyone think he was capable of making such enormous choices? Clearly, he wasn’t.

And then the sweet scents get to him and hush those racing thoughts once more. Did the president put these flowers here just to lessen his anxiety? Did he plan to ask him this tonight or was this because of how the hybrid noticed how easily his leading thoughts got away from him? Was this some sort of manipulation tactic or was it genuine care?

The exasperated teen groans loudly and collapses onto his bed, tiredly slinging an arm over his eyes to keep the grating light out. Notch, he had a migraine.

He could do this. He knew he could do this. If his president even thought so, who was he to disagree? Besides, if he could stand up to Dream, he could certainly stand up to himself. _Just breathe._

Well, a second opinion couldn’t hurt either.

Who to ask; who to ask? Quackity? The vice president was certainly older and had more experience, in between the ages of Schlatt and himself, but what would he even say? No matter the imagined scenario, it came out awkward in a way Tubbo wouldn’t want to ask anyone but his closest friends.

_Tommy._ He could ask Tommy. Well, not exactly. Straight up asking, “Should I turn myself into a ram hybrid in exchange for magical powers?” would certainly not go over well. It would probably end with him getting shot in the White House after storming in there, swearing loudly.

It would be best to be discreet.

The communicator on his wrist glints ominously at him. Neither him nor Tommy had said a single word to each other since that day he left and didn’t come back. Swallowing his fear, he presses his shaky fingers to the tiny keyboard.

“Tommy? Are you okay? You’ve been abnormally quiet?” For a few minutes, there’s no response, and Tubbo wonders if he’ll ever get a response at all or within the next couple days.

“Wilbur has been getting worse. Me and Techno are just reluctantly following him at this point.” _Wilbur has been getting worse?_

“What do you mean?”

“He thinks the whole world is out to get ‘em, especially after you left. I’m worried, but family sticks together.”

There’s a pang in the Manburgian’s heart. Tommy was directly blaming him for Wilbur’s mental state, saying he deserted family when they needed him most. It almost hurt as much as when Wilbur murdered him in cold blood. Almost.

“Tommy, he hurt me. Does that mean nothing to you?” There’s a pause, and he knows the younger was thrown off guard.

“Of course it does! But Wilbur is like a brother to me. He’s in his time of need. What kind of person would I be to leave him now?!”

He doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t want to be the one to tell Tommy that the answer is a sane one.

Tommy gets impatient with the silence, “So why did you dm me anyway?”

Might as well get straight to the point, “If you had the option to trade a part of yourself for immense amounts of power, would you do it?”

“That’s an odd question, Tubbo.”

When Tubbo doesn’t respond again, he continues, “I guess so, as long as I didn’t completely lose myself like Wilbur. I mean, I basically did that trade when I gave Dream my discs.”

That thought bounces around his skull for a moment before it settles, “Thank you, Tommy.” He shuts the communicator off, probably angering the loud-mouthed teen, but it didn’t matter.

He grips the apple so forcefully, a normal one would have bruised.

Stomping his way back into the hybrid’s office, he passes Fundy wandering away from the door. Briefly, he considers consulting the fox on this as well. They’re the only other hybrid he knows well, but they haven’t talked in a while. It’s strange considering that the two most likely have more in common than anyone in Manburg. They both ~~betrayed~~ abandoned Tommy and Wilbur, although Fundy seemed to make up his mind right away. Maybe they’re too ashamed to acknowledge to one another how they have changed.

Well, Tubbo wasn’t ashamed anymore.

He grabs the fox hybrid’s wrist, hoping he isn’t overstepping, “Hey Fundy.”

The one in question whips around, eyes wide like Tubbo stopping him was the last thing he expected, “…Hey Tubbo.”

“How’re you, big man? We haven’t really talked since before the election.” _Since before Jschlatt came into power._

His ears are laid back as his tail nervously swishes back and forth, “Ah, you know, I’ve been around. Busy…” He buckles under the teen’s curious eyes, “Niki won’t talk to me.” He looks sullen, gaze cast to the hard floor. The loneliness must be crushing.

Not knowing what else to do, he pulls his old friend into a hug, “You wanna hang out later?”

A hoarse voice answers him, “Yeah.”

Fundy walks away, looking awfully guilty about something. It doesn’t matter. At least some of his family was still here with him. It would be a tragedy to let the only other founder of Manburg suffer by himself.

Alone again, he takes a deep breath and dramatically shoves the double doors of the president’s office open. The ram hybrid snaps his head up, ears perked. The sharp smell of booze mixes with the flowers. There’s what Tubbo recognizes as bourbon in a bottle on his desk.

Those yellow eyes float to the golden shine in his hands, “Tubbo, you’re here! You made up your mind already? It’s only been an hour.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to ask some questions first.”

He signals for him to sit, “Shoot.”

Reluctantly, he does, feet shuffling awkwardly on the carpeted floor. He knows the answer to this first question but just wants to make sure.

“Is it permanent? I’m gonna look like you?”

The president lets out a tipsy laugh, “Yup! Though, the type of ram you’ll get your traits from is gonna be random. You probably won’t look exactly like me.” For some reason, this is a relief. The knots in his stomach start unraveling.

“This whole magic thing. Explain it?”

The president sighs and leans back to slump in his seat, “There are different forms of magic like healing or illusionary or emotional. You’ll be proficient in elemental magic. There’s different subsets like electricity, wind, water. You’ll find all of these easy, but you’ll be naturally skilled with one and bad at another.”

“What about you?”

“Me? Uhh, I’m best at wind but suck with ice.” Tubbo tried imagining it, Schlatt whipping up a tornado with ease while having trouble forming an ice cube. It must not correspond with personality. He took the hybrid as more of a lightning type. What would he be good at? Hopefully healing. He wanted to help people.

“Will you help me with that?” his fingers tangle in one another.

The president smiles brightly, “Of course! What kind of mentor would I be if I abandoned you?” _Mentor._ Schlatt wanted to be his mentor. The thought made him anxious yet excited.

“…Will it hurt?”

Schlatt’s stare becomes a bit more serious, darkening, “Yeah, it will, the horns especially. It’ll take a few minutes for your horns to pop out, but it’ll be bearable after that. Then it’ll take about two months for them to finish growing, but that’s not nearly as painful.” _Two months._ That seemed awfully fast for such large horns to grow in. He assumed it would be more of a yearlong process.

“Hate to say it, but the best painkillers available that won’t mess with the process is booze,” and they’re offering him a glass of dark, strong smelling liquid.

Despite protesting, he accepts the cup, “Aren’t I a little young for this?”

“You’re really gonna need it, kid.” The words make his blood run cold. “Besides, don’t you tea drinkers start the party juice at eight or something?”

“16,” he corrects.

“Close enough. Aren’t you 16 anyway? Go ahead,” and as if to encourage him, he downs his own drink.

Despite having wine before, the heavy burn down his throat catches him off guard, gagging and coughing after hastily downing the liquor. The man on the other side of the desk chuckles at his inexperience.

There’s another full glass in front of him as soon as he looks up, and Tubbo realizes this will probably hurt a lot. He drinks again, letting the burn settle in his chest, waiting a few minutes for it to register.

His words slur unexpectedly as he feels incredibly warm and relaxed, “Do I just bite it?”

“You need to swallow the first bite. Anything after that doesn’t really matter.”

The fruit is still in his hand. Slowly, he holds it up to his lips, vision hazy.

Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to throw away his humanity for this? After little over an hour of thought? Was he really ready for such a thing?

Deliberately, he takes a bite. Juice flows down his chin as his canines sink in further. A voice in the back of his head distantly wonders if it’s too late to go back now.

At that thought, he’s strangely spurred onwards, digging for the courage to move forward. It weighs unnaturally heavy in his mouth. The simple act of swallowing feels as if it’s the most important thing he’s ever done.

It tastes like the best thing in the world, like a drink of water after being stranded in the desert. The next bite is much easier than the last, and he eagerly chews one after the other, the hybrid lightly smiling, amused. As soon as he’s finished, the core is set on the desk with finality. Without warning, Schlatt stands and takes long steps toward him, shrugging his suit jacket off onto the floor as he strides.

He’s being pulled in a blur onto the floor in a tight, secure hug. Instinctually, he hugs back, unsure as to why the president is holding him.

And then his head starts to hurt. Okay, hurt is an understatement. He’s 90% certain someone is stabbing two red hot knives into his skull from the inside out. Initially, he’s whimpering pathetically, quickly devolving into a screaming and crying mess when the knives finally break through. His ears, feet, and the base of his spine burn as well, but the agony in his head makes them pale in comparison. Thrashing wildly, Schlatt holds him firmly against his chest, repeating assurances that he doesn’t quite catch.

Blood gushes from the skin being torn open at his hairline, soaking his locks and spilling down his face, getting caught in his eyebrows. Claws sink into the back of the man he’s desperately hugging onto for dear life, ripping open white fabric and drawing red. Schlatt lets him, ignoring his own pain to rub circles into the teen’s back. He’s wailing loud enough to wake up half of Manburg. Tears mix with the blood staining his cheeks. For a minute, he prays he’ll just die, the transformation killing him right then and there so he doesn’t have to suffer through this for one second longer.

He must have passed out, because when he finally comes to, his head is in the crook of Schlatt’s neck, shoulder drenched in blood, snot, and tears. Eyes focusing downward, the blonde sees the back of a white dress shirt torn and soaked through with the wearer’s blood. Everything is too much. The world just switched into high definition, vision sharper and sounds louder. Even smells are more distinct, and he can practically taste the iron in the air. Trembling fingers lace in his hair, touching the bone-like appendages there. They were dangerously sharp and the ends and incredibly smooth, blood making them slippery. They were already several inches long, twisting in a way that the other hybrid’s horns did not.

Hands traveling down, a thumb traces over his new ears. They’re soft, fluffy, and keep moving to their own accord, twitching at his touches.

While Schlatt’s tail is short and stands up, his is longer, hanging down freely. For whatever reason, he has this urge to scratch the base of it. Going for it, he sighs contentedly and sags further into the elder’s grip. That was nice.

The bottoms of his feet feel weird, but they’re not hooves. Removing his shoes and socks, he notices solid black patches stuck to the heel, sole, and toes of his feet. There’s also brown fur here stretching up and stopping above his ankle.

He’s so busy examining his new features, he doesn’t hear the other person in the room until they speak.

“¡No mames!” Tubbo didn’t know what that meant, but it was probably some sort of Spanish swear. The vice president was probably alerted by his tortured shrieking. _How long has he been here?_ The president responds by picking him up and resting the new hybrid back on his chair. He lays back in it, thankful that the only pain left was a dull ache in his skull. Quackity spoke with a lisp, retainer still in. He had likely been woken up from sleep.

“Is anyone gonna tell me what the fuck’s going on in here?”

“He ate the apple,” the president explains simply.

The Latino throws his hands up in the air with a groan before addressing Tubbo, “Are you okay? You want anything?”

“Water,” he asks weakly.

“Right, okay. Yeah, right okay,” he chants to himself repeatedly, entering some sort of bewildered trance as he trips his way out of the room.

“You feeling good, kid?” Schlatt is looking at him with a weird mix of concern and pride on his face.

“No, I feel like shit,” he laughs, “But I don’t feel like someone is repeatedly slamming my head into a sharp rock anymore, so that’s nice.”

“Good, good. Well, you look good!” Schlatt offers an encouraging smile followed by a mirror from some drawer in his desk.

The drying blood almost makes him drop it. Struggling with it for a moment, he takes a look. His eyes aren’t yellow like the other’s. They’ve darkened from a bright baby blue to a soft brown. His fur is also different from Schlatt’s, a warm chestnut instead of the president’s pristine white. While the older hybrid’s horns resembled sweet toffee, his were a gentle beige, lighter. He can’t stop staring at his eyes, slanted pupils instead of circular ones. It looks very intense. This must be how Schlatt traps people under his gaze. He can’t stop staring.

This whole thing was supposed to feel like loss, right? He lost his humanity, so why is he so satisfied with his new appearance? It makes him feel powerful, a force to be reckoned with and acknowledged. Nobody could ignore him now.

“You look happy. I’m glad. I was afraid you may have regrets,” the man he had just been comparing himself to breaks him from his reverie.

“Yeah, I look good,” he slurs, realizing he’s still drunk. Good thing Quackity came back with the water, because there’s no way he could go get it himself without tripping over his new feet. They also brought a washcloth, tenderly wiping the blood and tear stains off his face as he grabs the cup.

It feels strange between his hands, like the water is pulling at his chest. It’s as if it were a new strange, foreign limb. He tries moving it and a ripple spreads over the surface. In the end, his thirst wins over curiosity as he downs it. It stings going down, throat screamed raw.

“Thanks, Big Q,” he nods gratefully at his friend. They react by playfully patting the teen’s shoulder.

“Yeah man, you had me worried. I thought some eight-year-old was getting murdered in the White House,” he goes to ruffle his colleague’s hair, motion stopped short when he realizes how terrible an idea that is. Tubbo smiles, exhausted. He knows he should probably shower or eat or something, but he doesn’t have the mental energy to do _anything,_ let alone stand under running water.

“Could someone help me to bed? I’m actually about to pass out.” The VP begins wrapping an arm around him, but Schlatt speaks up.

“I got him,” he comes over to offer his protégé a shoulder, and they accept gratefully. They stumble together to the bedroom, Tubbo getting used to his hardened feet and this weird instinctual urge to trot. Fear lances through him a few times, scrabbling frantically for Schlatt’s arm when he almost falls down a couple times.

Fortunately, they’re in his room before long. The tired hybrid releases his hold and falls onto the plush duvet. He doesn’t bother getting under the covers, opting to roll himself into a cocoon instead. Laying on his side kind of hurts, so he lays on his back, bloodied horns not rubbing up against anything but his hair.

“Goodnight, Tubbo. Sleep well,” the taller hybrid murmurs before shutting off the lights and leaving the kid to dream peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Maybe I should post a new chapter in the middle of the day when more people will see it.
> 
> Also me: Hehe post at 3 am.
> 
> Anyway thank you for reading thus far <3


	8. Monster (Dodie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world sees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T CARE IF THE HYPE IF OVER Y'ALL CAN'T STOP ME.

The first thing Tubbo feels upon waking up is lonely, which is weird. He hasn’t felt this alone since soon after the election, when he came back to an empty home with Tommy’s things still strewn about haphazardly.

There’s this intense urge to be around everyone in the White House; for Quackity to laugh loudly and yell about his fat ass, for Schlatt to bicker with him and try to speak Spanish, and for George to just be there. It’s weird. Usually he misses Tommy or Wilbur, not them.

Whatever. He has to get cleaned up first. Ignoring that gnawing at his soul, he sits up, not relishing in the way the sheets peel off of him, dried blood sticking him to the wool. Checking his phone, the clock says 7:37 am. Strange, he feels much more well rested than a couple hours of sleep. That’s when he realizes he actually slept for 26 hours. Wow. He really needs to stop going into miniature comas.

Yanking his blackened clothes off his skin, stepping under the shower is another strange thing that should be normal. The water feels like it’s buzzing under his skin. He can feel it vibrating in his lungs, down to his toes, and under his eyelids. It’s not horribly unpleasant, just overwhelming, so he scrubs his skin clean as quickly as possible before hopping out.

Dressing in a crisp suit and green tie, he hesitates with the shoes. While Schlatt wore them, he was interested in knowing what it would be like without.

Leaving his room and stepping onto the marble floor was weird. A lot of things about his new body were weird. Traction under his feet kept leaving for a few seconds before coming back, causing him to stumble around like a drunken person. This would definitely take some getting used to.

He half walked, half fell into the meeting room where the rest of the cabinet seemed to have settled for breakfast. Even George was there, awake so early. Jschlatt was the first to notice him. It was probably that advanced hearing Tubbo now knew he had. He wondered how many times the president overheard conversations others thought no one else could hear.

“Heeeyyy, look who it is!”

The VP is the next to look up, “Twobo! ¡Buenos días! Out of another coma, I see. I think Georgie is rubbing off on you.”

Meanwhile, George doesn’t say anything. He just stares, and then he’s taking off his glasses, squinting and leaning forward like yellow and green are next to each other.

“Since when is Tubbo a goat?”

Quackity’s reaction is to die laughing while the president rolls his eyes in annoyance, “Ram, George. He’s a ram.”

The teen in question trots over, finding it easier to walk when he’s bouncing on his feet, “You didn’t know? Weren’t you here when I started screaming?”

“I was asleep.”

Quackity punches his shoulder, “Ol’ Gogy here could sleep through a war.”

Schlatt speaks with his mouth full, “Didn’t he already sleep through Manburg getting blown into the stratosphere? Notch.”

“I was tired.”

His running mate sounds miffed, “Were you tired during the elections too? Huh?”

The colorblind man puts his glasses back on, unaffected as always, “Yeah.”

“…No, but seriously, why is he a goat?”

“Because he decided he wanted to be one,” Schlatt says matter-of-factly. Quackity is sweating slightly.

“But that’s not- You know what? I’m gonna take that at face value,” so used to Dream doing completely impossible bullshit all the time, he just sighs and decides to not question it. The vice seems relieved while his superior acts unsurprised.

But Tubbo knows this is a one-time deal. Eventually, he’s going to have to leave the White House and let people see him, and they’re not going to ignore his horns so easily like George. Does he even want people to see? How is he going to explain this? The truth is not an option; people would cast him out as some sort of wizard.

There are only two options that come to mind: lying and saying he woke up like this or telling people to mind their own business. He doesn’t want to lie, so it seems the choice has been made.

There’s a confidence in him that makes the public’s reaction not matter as much. What matters is how his friends will react. Niki will probably dm Tommy as soon as she sees. What happens then? How is Tommy going to react? Poorly, no doubt. Resting his head in his hands, the hybrid realizes he’ll have to tell Tommy himself if he wants to avoid a disaster.

But what is he going to say that won’t anger the hot-tempered kid anyway? Oh God, he didn’t really think this one through. Tommy is going to crucify him.

No, no. Tommy wouldn’t hate him. He couldn’t hate him. They were best friends. The kid even called him a brother. They might be mad with him, but Tommy could never hate him. Tubbo refuses to believe it. He just needs to find the right words so that his friend wasn’t too mad with him.

Dread weighs heavy on his shoulders almost as much as the horns weigh on his head. That could come later. Pushing this responsibility back was most likely not the bravest or wisest choice, but he needs the chance to figure out what to say and gather his thoughts. Everything was happening so fast all at once. A moment to settle down and think things through would help.

Quackity snaps him out of his thoughts with a hand on his arm, “You alright, man? Lookin a little down there.”

The young secretary takes a quick scan over the president before speaking, “Yeah, I just uhh… can I borrow one of your beanies?” His voice is tight with the fear of how Schlatt will react and if his friend will refuse. Both his eyes and the Latino’s equally dark ones cast sideward glances onto the older hybrid at the table. There’s an annoyed frown on his lips, but he says nothing in protest.

“Yeah, sure. Of course.” Calm finally returns to him once Schlatt remains quiet, looking away and checking his phone. Okay, good. Crisis averted for at least one more day.

Now, how was he going to figure this out? Asking for help was always an option, and frankly, he was feeling a bit in over his head. The problem was asking someone who was not only trustworthy but could actually provide fair insight.

Well, there was a hybrid he promised to hang out with later, and it was later.

\--------------------------------

Sometimes it could be really easy to forget that the fox and ram hybrid were the same age. Schlatt acted much older than his age while people generally treated Fundy younger than 21. Wilbur even liked to call him his son and talk to him in that high pitched, doting tone even though he was only three years older. Tubbo wondered if that sweet part of the old president still existed or if it burned to ash along with Manburg.

His appearance now properly suited his age. He put back on his black jacket almost as soon as Schlatt took over, unlike Niki. At first, it made Tubbo disappointed. Now he wondered if Fundy was the smart one all along. Maybe some of that wisdom could help.

“Hey Fundy,” a tired but satisfied smile graces his features.

The fox awkwardly regards him, holding out a hand to shake, “Hey…” Ignoring the attempt at formality, Tubbo pulled him into a loose hug, head hanging back as to not accidentally bump horns against his old friend. They were hidden under the black beanie, out of sight for now. The light pressure did nothing to relieve that constant dull headache. The teen hadn’t expected the protrusions to be able to feel, but Schlatt told him horns were living organs much like bones. Maybe he should have researched ram hybrids a bit more before becoming one. Too many things about this new body were confusing.

Returning to his seat, Fundy looked nervous, which had apparently become the new normal. The few times he saw the fox hybrid recently, he was anxious or seemed incredibly tired and done with everything, eyes heavy and constantly shifting back and forth. He wondered if the guilt seen earlier had anything to do with his current anxiety, or maybe it was just because he invited the hybrid to have lunch in his office alone.

“How’re you, Fundy? We really haven’t been talking like we used to lately,” the young official tries for a reassuring smile. It doesn’t seem to work.

“Oh, you know, I’ve just been busy lately,” his black eyes never meeting him. The sunglasses probably don’t help.

“I didn’t invite you to interrogate you, ya know? I just wanted to catch up and see how you’re doing.” When two eyes peer up at him, he takes it as cue to continue.

“You just seem really tired and stressed, man.”

“Yeah, you too.” And at first, Tubbo wants to protest, to insist he’s doing just fine. However, the president _did_ fill the entire White House with relaxing scents just to make him stop having an anxiety attack every time something minor went wrong. That may be indicative of a slight problem.

Maybe if he opens up, his friend will too.

“All the paperwork and meetings and _responsibility_ is just hard. I didn’t ask for all of this, you know?”

“Then why are you still here?” The question throws him off guard. No answers are jumping out at him to grab. Why was he here? Was it just because he was too afraid to tell Schlatt no? No, that wasn’t it. Part of him was here because he loved this country. If there was a chance for him to personally change it for the better, why let it pass by?

Deep down, there’s another part of him that lit up when Schlatt called him upon that stage. He was already secretary of state but being acknowledged in such a way was honestly exhilarating. It was probably just a power play but having such a commanding presence compliment him in front of the entire nation was incredibly satisfying. For once, all his hard work was being recognized. That’s why he turned around.

But of course, he doesn’t say that, “I had a chance to make a difference and I took it. I love Manburg. Why would I leave it behind when I can really make a difference in the lives of my people?”

Somehow, Fundy softens at this, “Yeah, yeah no I totally agree. I just hope I’m making the right choices.”

He smiles open mouthed back, “I’m sure you are! You’re one of the kindest people I know.”

Now he looks bashful, tail swishing back and forth, “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“No, I mean it. As secretary of state, I demand you acknowledge how amazing you are. That’s an order.”

“Okay, okay. I’m a nice person,” he looks so embarrassed, cheeks red. There’s a small smile on his lips.

“Good!” he chirps, hands clasping together. “Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you.” The fox simply tilts his head to this side. The tension from earlier had dissipated from the room.

“What’s it like to be a hybrid?”

Eyebrows quirked in confusion, “That’s an odd question.”

“I’m just curious.”

He doesn’t seem to take that at face value, but continues anyway, “Um, well, it depends on where you live. Some places are a lot more accepting than others. I’d say Manburg is on the better side of things. With Schlatt, things will hopefully get better.” This was unexpected. An answer on the physical and emotional effects was more anticipated. Admittedly, he didn’t know much about the social discrimination that came with being a hybrid. The few hybrids he hung out with had positions of power. No one disrespected an official or decorated warrior, no matter who or what they were.

“What kind of things happen?”

He can tell he made Fundy uncomfortable again, “It’s really different with each type of hybrid. People either usually baby fox hybrids or act suspicious around us, saying we’re sneaky and calculating.” There’s a suppressed fury in that glare at the floor, and Tubbo remembers all those times Wilbur treated Fundy like a child, despite the short age gap.

“There’s this misconception that we’re less intelligent because we have stronger instincts, and that’s bullshit. People tend to tolerate hybrids of domesticated animals more, though they get sexually harassed more, especially cats. Then there’s those people who don’t want _wild and crazy_ free animals around. There’s this big debate over whether or not Schlatt is a livestock animal.” The more he talks, the more visibly worked up he becomes, lips pulling back in a snarl.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright,” trying to calm his friend down, throwing his hands up defensively.

At that, he deflates, “I’m sorry. It’s just really… _annoying._ ”

“That’s _horrible!_ ”

“Yeah…” There’s an awkward pause, and Tubbo takes it upon himself to keep things going.

“What about instincts and physical stuff?”

“That’s really different with each hybrid and person. Some people embrace their instincts and others suppress them.” Fundy was very foxlike while Techno was the opposite of what a pig was supposed to be like. He supposes those are the opposite ends of the spectrum.

“I get scared by things pretty easily, which is _not_ funny or cute. Just saying.”

“What about rams?”

That one earns him an odd look, “Uhh, I think they’re naturally assertive. Sheep in general have flocking instincts. Schlatt is usually with a group of people in public.” _Oh._ Maybe that’s why he felt so lonely this morning. Huh. That’s interesting.

“May I ask why you wanna know?” Well, now is as good a time as any.

With closed eyes, off comes the hat and glasses. A few moments pass to allow the fox time to take everything in before he opens his eyes again. They look terrified, body pressed up against his chair in an effort to back away from the teen. Tubbo doesn’t think he’s seen anyone more confused in his life. Mouth open all the while, the former revolutionary slowly gets up to move his hands toward those beige horns. They’re still tender, but the new hybrid does his best not to flinch under the contact. The touches are thankfully delicate, his friend gently rubbing them, making sure they’re real. When he’s convinced, his hands shakily withdraw.

“Tubbo,” his voice cracks on the name, “What happened?”

“Schlatt asked me if I wanted to be a hybrid and I said yes,” maybe mentioning Schlatt was a bad idea, but the secretary wanted to be a bit more honest with his old friend.

“ _Schlatt?_ ” they echo furiously, moving away to pace back and forth as if plotting a murder.

“No, no. It’s okay! I wasn’t pressured or anything,” he tries to explain. Fundy seems unconvinced.

“Then why’d you say yes?” venom in that tone.

“I- I just wanted to. It’s personal. I have my reasons,” he stutters out, sweating under that gaze.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m good. I wanted this; I swear.” When the fox’s ears stop being pressed so tightly to his skull, Tubbo breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn’t want to lose another friend, doesn’t want another problem on his hands. “I just wanted your help.”

“Why not ask Schlatt then?”

“Because you’re my _friend,_ Fundy.” Whatever his relationship with his boss is, Tubbo isn’t sure he’d label it friendship quite yet.

The man in question sighs, “You’re my friend too, Tubbo. I’m sorry.” Visibly relaxing, he runs forward to wrap his arms around the short blonde once more, this time pulling him into a warm, tight hug. Head leaned forward, Fundy adjusts to the feeling of horns pressing against his chest. Silently, he swears to never let anything bad happen to this kid.

\--------------------------------

Tubbo’s footsteps clop loudly against the paved road of the town. His ears bounce as he bobs up and down, trotting on springy feet. Fundy hopes everyone else will think it’s as adorable as he does as they make their way toward the heart of the city. He’s protectively close to the young hybrid, daring anyone to say something. While the kid looks confident, head held high, the fox’s sharp ears can hear how much trouble he’s having breathing. God. If anyone hurts him, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to show mercy.

Rounding the corner, several people absentmindedly glance up at the noisy tapping, going back to what they were focusing on before quickly doing a double take. They’re in the better part of town, and the mostly human crowd gawk and part like the red sea, giving the pair a wide berth. Nobody says to does anything to them, but he can hear their confused whispers. _Is that Tubbo? What happened to him? What did Schlatt do?_ Most of them sound pitiful instead of fearful; and while it’s better, it still makes his throat tighten with rage because the dense humans don’t realize that the kid can hear them. It’s apparent in the way his bouncing curtails and ears pull back.

As they slowly march toward the lower income area of town, the pity and disdain fade into genuine curiosity and respect. Several hybrids peer at the official in wonder. A small half cow child rushes up to him and gushes over how cool he is, asking a million personal questions before his mom apologizes profusely and chides her son. All the smiles thrown his way has the blonde perking up again, confidently bouncing on his hardened feet once more. Fundy’s glad. He’s going to need that confidence for their destination.

Nikki’s bakery was alive and bustling with cheer. The last time he was here, it was barren and cold, a few sad pastries going to waste behind the glass. He hadn’t dared step foot inside since the flag incident, but Schlatt had told him he returned her taxes to normal. Apparently, he wasn’t bluffing.

Turning their way, her smile immediately falters. The more she leans forward, the more her expression drops. When they shamble over to the counter, it takes her a few moments for the words to escape.

“Tubbo, sweetie, what happened?” the concern drips from every syllable.

“What do you mean?” he asks like nothing is out of the ordinary.

“I mean,” she pauses, clearly trying to avoid offense, waving to his new features, “What’s all this? What did Schlatt do? Do you need help?” Her voice is a whisper now, “Do you need me to call Tommy?”

His words sound as sincere as possible, “Schlatt didn’t do anything, Niki. I did this myself, on purpose.”

“What? Why?” she sounds _hurt._ It reminds Fundy of when he set L’Manburg on fire.

“Cause I wanted to,” voice steady.

“How-,” her voice waves, and Fundy knows what’s next, “How _could_ you?”

What he doesn’t expect is the hostility coming from the teen, “How could I? How _could_ Wilbur? I did everything he ever asked of me and he betrayed me. I followed his every instruction but it was never enough. _I_ was never enough.” That composure breaks, tears welling up in his eyes as Niki backpedals 20 different steps.

“ _Shit,_ no, I didn’t mean- I just-,” she sighs, defeated, “I just don’t know why you’d side with Schlatt of all people.”

He quiets as the calm returns, “He isn’t so bad.”

“Maybe everyone else is falling for this _nice guy_ persona, but I haven’t forgotten who he really is.”

“I know you hate him. I know you think he’s a villain, Niki, but the world is a lot more grey than you think it is.”

She doesn’t look convinced by this, but she doesn’t continue arguing either. Fundy feels like he just watched his parents argue while silently listening from behind a wall. Niki didn’t even acknowledge him, just glared bitterly. Yeah, he probably deserved that.

Feeling uncomfortable, they both leave despite just getting there. Their footsteps are heavy, and Tubbo looks so tired. When they finally make it back, Schlatt is already there, standing proudly outside the White House. Seeing those drained faces, the president quickly pulls his protégé into a hug, the younger collapsing into it.

Fundy wonders if he’ll be okay. Maybe he was wrong about Schlatt. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah I actually wrote a long chapter like a normal author for once.


	9. Mars, The Bringer of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone is so tolerant with the new changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta warn ya, Schlatt says some kinda messed up things in this one. So yeah.
> 
> Lmao Happy Thanksgiving <3

The world saw, and the world reacted. While different parts of Manburg had their own opinions, the overall reaction had been that of reluctant acceptance. According to Schlatt, the Dream SMP reception had been a bit different. Apparently, the president had spies. He wondered who.  
  
Dream had supposedly gone around and spread rumors about Schlatt performing some Herobrine ritual on him. Using reports of screaming coming from the White House, claims were made that he was held down while some sort of sacrifice was made. Some of his citizens believed him, others didn’t. Overall, the public opinion there was low for Schlatt. Eret had even messaged him several times, offering sanctuary in his country. Even after explaining, the king seemed concerned, reminding him that the castle doors were always open for a former friend.  
  
Finally was Pogtopia’s reaction, which was mainly a mystery. Tubbo was starting to regret not telling Tommy in person, but it was just much quicker and a lot less nerve wracking to dm him the news.  
  
Tommy had never behaved in this way ever before. All he said was, “Okay.” That’s it. There was no screaming or cursing or promises to murder Schlatt. There was a single word and then silence. It was terrifying. At this point, he would have rather been yelled at, cursed out, heck, even punched. This ominous nothingness was much worse. It weighed heavy on his mind, anxiety feeding the flames every new second of quiet. He wondered if this meant his best friend was _really_ mad at him. Hopefully not.  
  
Dream’s spies were reportedly watching him closely, taking pictures of him as proof. He only felt privacy indoors anymore. Outside, the stares added to the anxiety that practically hung on him like a cloud. On the White House lawn, he shifted uncomfortably, feeling eyes on him. A miniscule rustle of leaves no human could have ever perceived made him whip his head to the right so quick he almost got whiplash. Green was camouflaged with the leaves. A bone white mask smiled sickeningly sweet back at him. It was Dream himself.  
  
Yelping and falling over helplessly, the young official tries backing away in a panic before the man himself emerges from the foliage, axe in hand. The sight almost makes Tubbo pale as much as that creepy mask. Unarmed and not daring to make a sound, he sits trapped under that domineering gaze. He feels like a lamb trapped by a wolf, paralyzed.  
  
“How?” the tyrant demands harshly. The words stick in his throat, unwilling to come out and possibly say the wrong thing. Dream frowns in return, contrasting with the expression above him.  
  
“How!?” he’s yelling this time, and it makes every muscle in the blonde’s body freeze up. He’s all alone in the face of a predator, away from the flock. Some part of him is screaming at him to run while another voice is saying that he needs to stand his ground, that running will start a deadly chase. Bear your horns and stay strong.  
  
So, he stays right there and fails at trying to sound brave, “How what?”  
  
“How did Jschlatt do it? I know he did it. What did he do? What powers does he have? Tell me!” he’s whispering angrily as not to get caught, but they are literally right in front of the White House, and he was just loud a moment ago. Inevitably, someone notices.  
  
Tubbo doesn’t even need to look behind him to know it’s Schlatt. At this point, he has the hybrid’s footsteps memorized. They’re heavier and slower than most others, almost never running.  
  
“What are you doing here, Dream?” his voice is calm and steady, not trying to start anything.  
  
The man in question straightens up and adjusts his mask, axe still in hand, “I was just here to check up on Tubbo, make sure he’s alright.”  
  
“Does a checkup from you normally involve sneaking through my country to threaten someone to spill national secrets?” Caught, the masked man simply hums before grabbing one of Tubbo’s horns and pulling him close. It hurts, a lot. For a moment he twists in the ruthless grip, making a loud indignant shriek no human was capable of until a stinging has him stopping dead. Dangerously sharp netherite ghosts over an artery at his neck, threatening. The enchantments cast a solemn glow over his soft skin.  
  
“I’d start talkin if I were you,” is all the demon says, tone unchanging and cool. From this angle, Schlatt is finally visible, and he looks furious. There’s a netherite sword in his grasp, knuckles white.  
  
“Or what?” he spits, “You’ll kill an innocent child on my land? I don’t know if you know this, Dream, but people already hate you enough. You really wanna play this game?”  
  
“Oh, I wasn’t going to kill him. I just wanted to take him to my place and ask him a few questions.” The only thing holding him up now is the threat at his throat as he realizes Dream was threatening to torture him. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he knows Schlatt can hear him start to hyperventilate.  
  
Something hardens in the president’s look, “Dream, have you ever heard of _la parrilla?_ ”  
  
“What, is that some sort of thing you do with Quackity in the bedroom?” he laughs at his own joke.  
  
“It translates to _the grill,_ and it was a torture method used by President Pinochet in Chile.” Tubbo didn’t know Schlatt’s voice could go so low.  
  
“Am I supposed to be scared?” the masked man sounds utterly unconcerned by the threat.  
  
The little remark is completely ignored, “The prisoner would be stripped down naked and tied to the metal frame of a bed. Then they’d put electrodes on the most sensitive parts of their body like their tongue or eyelids and electrocute them until you could smell their flesh frying on the metal. That’s why it’s called the grill. The electricity would sometimes make their muscles spasm so violently their bones would _snap._ Of course, if that wasn’t a good enough explanation, I could always give you a demonstration.” At this proximity, he can hear Dream’s heartbeat pick up.  
  
In the center of a country that’s not his own, he drops his axe and lets the young hybrid go. As soon as that pressure leaves him, Tubbo falls to the ground and starts softly crying.  
  
“You disgust me, tyrant,” is all Dream utters before angrily turning around and stalking off.  
  
Immediately after that green hoodie vanishes from sight, two arms wrap around him, whispering to him, “Shh, no one’s gonna hurt you. I promise. No one gets past me.” The president holds him until there are no more tears left to cry, softly rubbing circles into his horns.  
  
\--------------------------------  
  
After that incident, Schlatt decided it was best for him to learn magic sooner rather than later. They were at his old jungle base, the walls cracked and decaying. It was best to do this away from prying eyes, and this was his best suggestion. Maybe he should actually fix up this place. The rotting structures made him proud, even after Sapnap burned a good portion of them down. Letting go was something he never did well.  
  
They were standing in a warm lake near his house, him in his normal clothes while Schlatt had his comfy clothes on with the sleeves rolled up. The magic user told him to start with water for whatever reason and seeing Schlatt stand in water made him nervous. It was up to their elbows and he didn’t want to have to pull him out of the water when the drowning started.  
  
“Okay, I want you to cup some water in your hands and try to move it without moving your hands.” Staring at the water in his palms, he tries forcing it to move, frustration growing as minutes pass and nothing happens. He tosses his horns in annoyance.  
  
“You gotta feel the water, like it’s a part of you.” Like that day he got his horns or this morning in the shower. Concentrating, the water buzzes in his chest. He can feel each molecule moving like it’s his blood. Willing it to buzz more, the liquid in his hands heats up. It gets hotter and hotter until it feels like when Schlatt healed him and he hisses in pain, dropping it as if it were acid.  
  
“Holy shit. That was pretty good. You’re a natural,” his teacher praises.  
  
“But I didn’t do anything,” he brushes off the compliment, self-deprecating.  
  
“Tubbo, you literally boiled water in your hands. Do I need to heal you?”  
  
Looking down, he realizes his hands are burned bright red, several blisters forming already. Moving them, the creases rub together painfully.  
  
“Yeah, sorry,” guilt stains his words.  
  
Schlatt steps forward immediately and takes his hands, “Don’t apologize. You’re doing great.” That warm feeling returns before becoming unbearably scorching once more. Failing to remain still, his teacher has to grab onto him to finish healing. Finally pulling away, his hands look good as new. It still amazes him, staring at his white palms for a moment in wonder.  
  
“Yeah, okay now try moving the water around you, but _don’t_ boil it this time. That’ll end a lot messier.”  
  
Gathering courage, he reaches out to the water molecules around him, trying to force them to budge. The surface ripples slightly, and he tries harder, straining his muscles and gritting teeth. There’s not much a difference.  
  
Swaying back and forth yields different results. The warmth starts to move with him, waves forming. Each push has them gaining momentum until he’s struggling to stay upright. His mentor seems perfectly fine, moving his arms in a way that has the waves passing him by, his own little patch of water completely still. The waves become a number of feet high until he loses balance, being swept under the current and sinking under into a deeper part of the pool. Freaking out, he forms some sort of forward loop with his arms, and then he’s shooting ten feet into the air. Surprised, he yelps before crashing back into the lake, air being ripped from his lungs. Solid objects wrap around him before bringing him up into the sky once more. Schlatt is holding him and propelling them into the air as if thrown by a trident. Once on solid ground, Tubbo lets go to gasp and sputter, fisting the grass. Everything burns and he thinks he just ran a triathlon. Maybe he’ll just pass out right here.  
  
“Alright that’s enough. You did good, kid.” Breathing heavy, the exhausted hybrid lets Schlatt throw him over a shoulder and carry him off to the nether.  
  
\--------------------------------  
  
Tommy received the messages, he just couldn’t believe it, needed to see it for himself. So now he was here in Manburg, stalking through the bushes and hiding behind buildings. Most people didn’t care if he were here. Really, the teen just needed to avoid Jschlatt and whoever the fuck licked his boots.  
  
There they are, wearing casual clothes and heading toward the White House. Needing a closer look, he quickly moves between houses while being far too dramatic. When he finally gets a closer look at his friend, Tommy fucking freezes.  
  
The kid looked like a mini Schlatt, and he looked _happy_ about it. What did that bastard do to him? They were walking side by side, talking and laughing every so often.  
  
Should he just let him go? Would that be the right thing to do? Phil told him once that if you love something, set it free. Tubbo was content and growing up. Who was he to end that?  
  
And then the pair make it to the White House and Schlatt turns to stare him right in the eyes. Tommy definitely wasn’t scared shitless right now.  
  
Smirking, Schlatt looks the frozen blonde right in the eyes as he bends down and hugs Tubbo. They bump horns together in some strange gesture and Tommy is fucking furious. He knows the best thing to do right now would be turning back, heading to Pogtopia, staying quiet, shit, simply doing anything other than what he’s about to do would be an improvement.  
  
The livid teen just can’t help himself, running forward and hurling every swear in the book directly at Jschlatt. Every word has the man smiling wider, causing Tommy to swear louder. Simultaneously, Tubbo is whipping around, eyes all wide and mouth agape. His eyes are an ugly muddy brown instead of bright baby blue, and Tommy is drawing his stabbing shit sword.  
  
Of course, sweet Tubbo is stepping between them, “Tommy! Please just calm down. We can talk about this.”  
  
He sighs impatiently because Schlatt is _right there_ with that shit eating grin on his face just asking to die.  
  
“Tubbo, _move,_ ” and when that doesn’t work, his voice rises an octave and becomes more desperate, “Can’t you see he’s manipulating you? C’mon, _please._ ”  
  
“What will killing Schlatt accomplish?”  
  
“Nothing! But he deserves it,” all the shouting is drawing some attention now. People are staring. For just a moment, everyone is still.  
  
“You sound like Wilbur,” Tubbo whispers, sorrow staining his features.  
  
“No, I-“ at that his sword shakily lowers, “Just come home. I _miss_ you.”  
  
“To get manipulated by Wilbur? So he can make me do his dirty work and then stab me in the back?”  
  
“I haven’t listened to him since the festival. We don’t even need to plan anything. I just- I just… I want you _back._ I want you back.” And he’s definitely not about to cry. No, Tommy Innit does not cry.  
  
“Tommy, I love you, but I can’t. I have a duty to Manburg... I’m sorry,” he really does look sorry, but sorry is not enough.  
  
Not wanting Tubbo or Schlatt to see him cry, Tommy quickly turns and runs off, ignoring his best friend’s frantic cries to wait. People and places pass by in a blur, and not even Schlatt’s most loyal followers say anything with tears staining his cheeks.  
  
He needed Tubbo back. For all the teasing and insults, it was so crushingly lonely without him. Somehow, some way, he’d get his best friend back. It didn’t matter if he had to side with Wilbur. Fuck, it didn’t even matter if he had to ally with Dream. All that mattered right now was rescuing Tubbo from that hellhole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is a n g y edition.


	10. Slow Dancing in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt doesn't deal with stress well. Neither does Tubbo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol sorry for the long wait. Finals are here so I've been really busy. Actually, 11 days isn't _that_ long, but with how fast the Dream SMP produces content, like 30 arcs have passed in that time lmaoooo.

A month had passed. Tubbo’s horns originally shot obnoxiously upwards, but now they began swirling down the back of his head, pointing towards the earth. Apparently this was rare, and Schlatt had been very pleased as of late, complimenting his secretary often as if he were some sort of proud father. It was weird.

He kept frantically messaging Tommy at first, and his friend had responded cryptically. Occasionally, Tubbo would get messages early in the morning about how much Tommy cared, about how Schlatt was using him as a pawn, about how he would avenge his fallen humanity.

The teen did not ask to be avenged, thank you very much.

“Humanity is overrated,” Schlatt had told him, and Tubbo took it to heart. Not much had changed other than basic appearance and a few new instincts that still took getting used to even today. Those who put their humanity on a pedestal often were racist in the end, claiming their birth as some sort of gift from Notch. The secretary of state couldn’t roll his eyes harder if he tried.

Fundy said to him that you don’t understand what it’s like to experience misogyny until you’re a woman. Likewise, you can’t possibly know what racism feels like until you’re a minority, the group being oppressed. At first, Tubbo scoffed and disregarded this advice. He was no bigot. Not a single drop of racism flowed through his loving veins. What was there to miss?

And then came the very slight differences in how people treated him. It was so minute that it would be almost impossible to notice unless it affected you personally, unless you were on the receiving end. The teen finally knew what Fundy meant. He talked about suspicious looks, surprised stares when he mentioned some complicated government plan, as if people were shocked a hybrid could be so bright.

Not being used to a world of discrimination, every time he notices it is like a punch to the gut. People tell him to not show sheep instinct because it could _make humans uncomfortable._ Police follow from behind, making sure the shifty hybrid isn’t up to anything fishy until they see his face and realize it’s only the secretary of state. Everyone assumes the worst of him until it’s proven otherwise. Guilty until proven innocent.

There’s a joke about how a horse hybrid would behave better with spurs sunk into her sides. All the humans laugh. The only ones with uncomfortable postures are citizens like him. They say something that seems incredibly harmless and all the people like him laugh nervously and shift from side to side, too afraid they might cause a scene and ruin the mood to point it out. Instead, they wearily accept it and later decide to never interact with those people ever again. It’s so subtle, and Tubbo guiltily wonders how many bigoted remarks he thought were normal, how many he said himself.

No wonder Schlatt is so bitter.

The blonde is glad, however. Now he can recognize these slights and shut them down. If being a ram hybrid makes him a better person, then how could it be wrong in any way? Any ridicule was met with calm correction. Most humans simply rolled their eyes and labeled him as dramatic and a human hater. Somehow wanting equality threatened them, and he didn’t know how.

“Some shit heads think their worth comes from being better than others, and what better way is there to feel valid than stepping on people? Why not choose race? It’s easy. All you have to do is be born. Why make yourself feel good by actually trying and working hard when you can just do the same exact thing by being an asshole?” Schlatt seemed to be aggravated easily by this line of questioning. The teen decided it would be best to just never bring this up around the president. After the end of every talk, he looked like he was about to take down an entire nation with his own bare hands. Fundy was much more mellow and patient with these things. Tubbo wondered if it was because he dealt with it his whole life and felt it normal. He didn’t know what to do with that thought.

One thing was for certain, Tommy’s private messages were beginning to piss him off. Realistically, he knew his best friend was just concerned and confused for him. But personally, the remarks about Schlatt _robbing him of his humanity_ inflamed his temper, made him feel as if Tommy thought the president had robbed him of some amazing birthright. It was childish, he knew, but each message added fuel to his resentment, festering like some plague spreading across his body.

It was so stupid, he knew, but Tubbo stopped replying to his best friend after a while. Drained, he left the chaotic teenager to his own machinations. It sucked, and the radio silence was unnerving, but not having to constantly explain himself made it all worth it in the end.

God, he was such a bad friend, but what else was there to do? Tommy would always have a place in his heart, but sometimes he could be a bit much. He was just taking a well-deserved break, is all.

There were more important things to worry about anyway, like Schlatt’s increasing drinking habits. The president used alcohol as a coping mechanism whenever the stress became too much. He also started lashing out more, becoming aggravated over the tiniest misstep. To his credit, he usually stopped soon after, apologizing before locking himself and a bottle of whisky in his office. At least he was a funny happy drunk and not a scary shouty one.

Not only was Tubbo worried for his mentor’s physical and emotional state, but he knew that the sudden increase must have a reason. Probably Dream. That man had an addiction of his own, one much more terrifying and destructive. Power. It whispered to him like an impatient lover. Whenever someone lorded power over the masked ruler, it felt like walking in on them with another man, and he was possessive, trying to yank them back as soon as possible. Tubbo and Schlatt both had moments of control over him, and he never felt more humiliated in his life, being stepped on by a child and a hybrid.

Tariffs were being demanded, and the president told him that Dream would use any slip up as an excuse to take political action. If he so much as breathed wrong, the tyrant would use it to justify whatever fucked up thing he wanted to do in order to feel strong. It was so stupid. The whole situation was just dumb. He can’t believe one man’s toxic masculinity is causing so much issue for an entire nation of hundreds of people. Notch, he needed a moment to breathe.

“You okay there, Twobo?” Quackity must have heard him noisily pacing back and forth on the marble flooring. His hands were holding tight to those beige horns like a lifeline. For some reason, it was incredibly grounding to grab tight to them, firmly connected to his skull.

“Yeah,” he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “Who knew being a high-ranking executive would be so hard?”

Quackity laughs softly, “Yeah, tell me about it. Dream is really busting my fat ass here.” That’s right, he was in charge of defense.

“Green bastard causing trouble again?”

“When is he not? I solve one problem and he makes another one just days after. It’s like he lives to cause problems. Señor needs to take some drugs and _chill._ What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Why you lookin all…” he makes a few whimpering noises like a sad puppy, mirth in his eyes.

“I’m a little worried about Schlatt is all. He’s really bad at dealing with stress.”

The Latino crosses his arms, “Yeah, he’s being kind of a dick. Yesterday he told me I had a flatty patty.”

When Tubbo chokes unexpectedly on his own laughter, Quackity responds with mock offense, “It’s not true! It’s not true!”

The secretary is wearing a mischievous smile, “Hey Big Q,” he gets up on his toes to whisper into his companion’s ear, “JFlatt.”

At first, the VP slaps a hand over his mouth to calm down, but it’s physically impossible for him to be quiet once something catches his delight, devolving into those shrieking laughs Tubbo finds always cause him to join in without fail. It takes the pair a ridiculously long amount of time to settle down.

Tubbo sighs, leaning against a wall, “What are we going to do?”

Quackity gasps, “I could take him on a date with me to cheer him up!”

“For some reason, I don’t think that’ll work, Big Q.”

“You think it’ll work on Dream?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m outta ideas then.”

He muses for a moment, “Maybe that date thing could actually work.”

“Really? I knew you’d realize how breathtaking I am,” he raises his head proudly.

“No, I meant like maybe we could drag him out of his office and get him to relax. All three of us.”

“The three of us? Tubbo, you’re a little young to-“ and with that, the hybrid playfully punches him in the shoulder and drags them to Schlatt’s office. The VP rubbed his arm. It seemed the secretary of state didn’t realize his newfound strength.

Peering around the heavy door, the president is lying face down on some important looking forms. There’s a completely empty bottle of red wine on the floor and a pot of ink has spilled over onto his hand, likely staining it. An empty syringe is on the table, and Tubbo grimaces at the sight of how rough his mentor looks.

“Heeyyy, Schlatt! Wake up! It’s time to rise and shine,” Quackity shouts cheerily.

The answer is little more than a disgruntled growl, “ _Fuck._ Go away.”

Going for the softer approach, the short teen moves behind the man to rub gently on his back, “You need to get up, big man. You can’t just stay in your office all day. We’re _worried._ ”

The concern in that last word has the ram president prying his face from the papers stuck to his skin. He looks absolutely miserable with dark bags under his eyes and hair in utter disarray. His eyes can’t dilate, but Tubbo notes how those pupils always remain level with the ground. Do his do that?

“That’s my job, Tubbo.”

“Just because you’re busy taking care of a country doesn’t mean you can stop taking care of yourself.”

Slurring, “Yeah it does.”

“Yeah, no. You’re not fine and we’re helping you whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t need your help, and I am _perfectly_ fine!” He looks between his cabinet’s faces and finds them completely unconvinced, eyebrows raised and arms crossed.

“…Okay fine, I’m getting up. But when this country falls apart, I’m blaming you two,” reluctantly standing up and pushing his chair in, he stumbles over his own feet, leaving his pupil scrambling to catch him. The height difference makes it a struggle, and Quackity is forced to rush and sling another arm over his shoulder.

“Where are you two lovely ladies taking me?” Tubbo can feel how relaxed his muscles are and wonders if it’s because of the drugs or the fact they’re in a group. Probably a mixture of both. He feels quite a bit better himself.

“A wonderful place I like to call _el sofá._ Very nice. Best seats in the house,” the vice proudly proclaims.

“What? You think I can’t handle being in public right now?” tone annoyed and words sluggish.

Tubbo pipes in, “Uh, is this supposed to be some sort of trick question?” Schlatt simply stares tiredly at him, foot stomping in irritation in a sheep manner that Tubbo recognizes. However, no objections or arguments are voiced.

Making it to the living room, the pair practically toss their president onto the couch, seemingly too spaced out to mind. Tubbo still feels guilty, sitting close to him on one side while Quackity takes the other. The tv turns on, but his eyes don’t seem to be taking it all in, glassy and unfocused.

Well, he might as well be the one to break the ice, “So, um, what exactly have you been taking, Schlatt?”

Those yellow eyes lazily drift over to him, “Notch, is this some sort of intervention?” But there’s no bite to his words.

“No, no,” and the president slowly turns his head toward Quackity and stares straight through him, “Well okay, maybe. Listen, you’ve always been a little bit of an alcoholic before, but now it’s kinda a lot worse. We’re just a little worried.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” he insists, but the way his words come out say otherwise.

His cabinet share a pointed look, and he sighs again, “Look, I’m an adult. I don’t need you two holding my hand and rocking me to sleep. I’m perfectly capable taking care of myself.”

The teen is happy his companion always seems to know what to say, “I know, I know. It’s just that… you know you don’t have to do everything by yourself, man.” The older hybrid stares at the wall at this, and his protégé wonders if he disagrees with this notion. He always wanted to make decisions by himself. Tubbo feels his mentor bases his self-worth on how much he can accomplish by himself. Is that why he campaigned for president? To feel accomplished? It reminds him a lot of Tommy, who always refuses help to do things on his own. They both see accepting help as a weakness, labeling themselves as a failure when they’re unable to do everything completely on their own. Really, this pride was just a trap, hurting more than helping in the end.

What could he say? What could he say to get through without the man rolling his eyes and ignoring his words as weak-willed myths? God, he wasn’t good with these things. Wilbur would be so much better-

No. No, never mind. Don’t think about Wilbur. Think about yourself. He needs to trust in his own abilities.

Taking a deep breath, he chooses his words carefully, “Nobody really gets anything done alone. All the greatest leaders had advisors and loved ones to lean on, like the queen or uh George Washington. You saying those people are weak?” All Schlatt does is stare at him, but he takes this as reason enough to continue, “Then stop setting impossible standards for yourself before you burn out. It’s already happening now, and you know it.”

The man is staring up at the ceiling now, quiet. Tubbo can’t tell if he’s being thoughtful, completely disregarding everything he said, or is simply too high to know what the hell is going on.

It takes a long time for Schlatt to say anything, and he mutters so softly it’s almost inaudible, “Then… what do I do?” Holy fuck that actually worked.

He whispers back, gentle as if not to spook a startled animal, “Whenever you feel overwhelmed, or need help, or just want someone to talk to, we’re right here. It’s literally our job, and we care about you.”

There’s something in Schlatt’s eyes Tubbo doesn’t recognize, and then the president’s going from looking up at the sky to burying his face in his knees, clearly embarrassed and feeling weak for showing emotion, wishing to hide himself away.

His voice is all wobbly as he lets out a sad chuckle, “This is so gay.” And Quackity can’t help breaking the mood by shrieking with laughter, which has him desperately trying to remain serious and failing miserably.

When the air clears and the older hybrid’s face finally emerges, it’s as neutral as always, and Tubbo hopes Schlatt actually took anything away from what he just said. Both of them don’t have any families to visit or go home to. They need to support each other if they’re going to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3


	11. Cigarette Ahegao

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet y'all thought I was dead. I was simply lying in wait, biding my time, ~~procrastinating~~.
> 
> Anyway happy new year! I wrote this while absolutely plastered aha, so hope it's at least okay <3

“Fire is the element of fury. Just think of what makes you mad,” Schlatt was trying to help his pupil with his opposite element. Apparently, your element of strength and weakness correlated to your personality. Each element represented an emotion. Water represented a go with the flow attitude, easy to adapt without being bothered. Ice was the ability to remain cool under stress. Wind represented emotional detachment and aloofness. And of course, fire was fury. To be honest, Tubbo would have expected Schlatt’s strongest element to be fire or maybe even earth. Air just didn’t seem to match up, but he could definitely see ice as his opposite. The man had no chill.

“I’m trying,” Tubbo really was, but not a lot made him too upset. He more or less accepted whatever the world threw at him with indifference. Focusing on Wilbur’s betrayal, the way people constantly looked down on him, and Tommy’s chaotic nature seemed to do nothing. Holding onto angry grudges just wasn’t something he did. Sure, things often upset him, but more in a depressing way than a fiery rage.

His teacher sighed, “You’re just too nice, but that’s okay. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Don’t feel too bad.” But he couldn’t help it. Every time he failed, it felt like a punch to the gut, like he was a screw up, a failure. His mentor noticed him all tensed up and jittery.

“Seriously, I suck at ice. You’re so much better at it than me. Does that make me weak?” Tubbo quickly shook his head no. Schlatt was one of the strongest people he knew, but in a secretive, less somatic way. “Then you’re not weak either. You’re just putting too much pressure on yourself to be perfect, but fuck, no one is. I’m not even close.”

That made him cheer up a bit, laughter coming out quietly, as if too afraid to upset the stillness in the air. This conversation was eerily familiar, and the irony was not lost on either of them. _He really did learn something, huh?_

Tubbo could hear the popping of the president’s back as he stood up, “Alright, that’s enough for today. I think you’re all magiced out.” Reluctantly, he follows. He really thought he could continue, but Schlatt’s word was usually final.

“In the meantime, think of stuff that pisses you off. Really soak in those teen hormones. Shouldn’t be hard. Everyone treats you like shit so…” he trails off, looking disturbed about something. Probably thinking about ways to help him act angsty.

“Whatever. There’s that party later, and you’re gonna go no matter how much you whine about it.” Ugh, that. He was hoping Schlatt forgot.

“I don’t see why I have to go. No one from Dream SMP is gonna be there.” After all, he is secretary of state.

“Because you’re an important part of government, one of the most important. Those rich snobs and bureaucrats are gonna be disappointed if you’re not there. Besides, it’s a chance to show you how _real_ government works.” Sort of ironic, him calling other people snobs.

“Getting drunk, inappropriately spending taxpayer money, acting fake to get what you want, and insulting poor people?” he’s incredulous and tired.

“Exactly! Now you’re gettin it, kid!” the older hybrid beams, and the younger rolls his eyes, but they just smile wider, “Good attitude! It’ll help with setting assholes on fire.”

“I’m not setting anyone on fire,” he groans, exasperated.

“Not yet,” they wink, and Tubbo groans once more. “Seriously though,” his tone changes so rapidly, the teen almost gets whiplash, “try and rest a bit. Dress up! I can’t have my protégé looking like shit at his first bullshit cocktail party.” Stooping down, he bumps their horns together, and the young hybrid involuntarily smiles, an annoyed expression still on his face, no heat behind it. They separate as Schlatt heads off to do whatever the hell he decides to do in his free time.

As soon as ~~humanely~~ possible, the teen throws the door open to his room, and flings himself onto his expensive bed. Magic really does take a lot out of him, especially when he’s not good at it.

When he wakes up, there’s purple and blue hyacinths on his nightstand.

\--------------------------------

On the way to the gathering, Schlatt fiddles with the adornments hanging from his pupil’s horns. They’re almost completely done growing and bulky, swooping back before elegantly twisting down. They spread out a bit to the sides to make them more visible form the front, but not being at the sides of his head make them much more manageable. Not like Schlatt’s which make sleeping considerably more difficult and sometimes get caught in a door frame while he’s tipsy, causing him to slam face first into a wall. The president glared death at him first time he saw that, laughing so hard he almost fell on the floor.

The jewels are honestly annoying, golden rings snug around his horns with chains hanging down, emerald attached to the end and tickling his ears. Admittedly, it looks stunning, but is very annoying, jangling and brushing up against him. His mentor even made him put on shoes, which also looked nice but felt very aggravating. Apparently being barefoot was unprofessional.

Schlatt looked very similar to him, but the jewels hanging from him were less jewel, more hardened redstone carved into jewel form, glowing faintly, casting an intimidating glow on his eyes and skin. If he didn’t already know the president was just a big drunk softie, they might even look sinister.

Good thing Schlatt would never hurt an innocent soul.

He’s even got the golden earrings in he only wears when going to the nether, complaining about them being a bit too feminine for his tastes, but also never missing a chance to show off in front of other wealthy people. Being the religious type, he even has golden apples as cufflinks. With a look so rich, even his eyes are gold.

They reach the place, Quackity in tow. His chains are instead around his neck, diamonds draped every which way. Tubbo is starting to wish his signature color were purple.

A couple men bow graciously, opening the doors for the trio, and Tubbo quietly recognizes they’re hyrbids.

The official knows he’s supposed to remain professional, but he can’t help staring. It’s the biggest room he’s ever seen outside of Hypixel. The ceiling must be at least several stories high, silver chandeliers arranged in complicated patterns and glistening lights. So many powerful looking people are milling about. It makes Tubbo nervous, swallowing fear.

Fancy suits are joined by the occasional dress. Even the servers standing around with trays of food and drink look intimidating. The sudden hand at his back makes him flinch and let out a surprised squeak. Schlatt’s there, pushing him forward gently but firmly.

Just a few months ago, he was living in trenches and sleeping in the dirt, fighting for independence. The atmosphere here is so unfamiliar and different, it leaves him reeling. While Quackity cheerfully wanders away, no doubt throwing everyone off with his complete lack of manners, the president stays by his side, arm steadying and grounding him to earth. Being the most important people in the room, he feels the countless eyes sliding over him, judging him. It’s terrifying.

What if he says something wrong? Not only will it haunt him in bed at night for the rest of his life; it might also negatively impact the country. Having so much power is nice, but also comes with all this responsibility he isn’t sure he’s ready for yet.

Then he remembers Schlatt, Quackity, Fundy, heck, even George tells him just how competent and capable he is. Those guys are all brilliant in their own respective ways. If they think he’s skilled, then he’s skilled. He’s just not skilled in calming the fuck down or being confident. Honestly, his opposite element should be ice.

Fake it till you make it.

So, his chest puffs out, head held high, (it’s not hard to do with the horns constantly pulling his head back) and what he hopes is a confident, easygoing smile graces his lips. _Remember to make it reach your eyes. Think about nice things like fresh lavender and Quackity’s crude jokes and **Tommy.**_

His smile turns wistful for a moment before quickly shifting back. Schlatt eyes him with interest. The hand at his back softly squeezes before dropping to the side.

“Gentlemen,” the man of the hour beams, arms spread wide in an invitation no one would dare reject. Even when it makes others uncomfortable, the hybrid simply can’t help but be physical. Tubbo stores that information in the back of his mind to mull over later. He can think about whether that’s some sort of power move or simple fondness later.

They accept one by one, smirking to one another behind his back, eyebrows raised. Tubbo doesn’t know what they’re wordlessly communicating to one another, but he doesn’t like it either way.

Leaning back, Schlatt clasps his secretary’s arm and introduces him, “And this here’s my right-hand man, the wonder boy himself, Tubbo!” Shyness makes him freeze up for a moment before breathing and going in for the handshake. _Why does Schlatt call him that when Quackity’s the vice president?_

It’s some minor official he doesn’t recognize, and their hand grip is unnecessarily strong, “Ah yes. I’ve heard you make an excellent foreign minister. Tell me, _how did you do it?_ ” The double meaning on those words is not lost on him, but he chooses to ignore it like usual.

“Know yourself and you will win all battles,” okay yeah, Technoblade may have rubbed off on him a bit.

Leeching off his adopted brother’s fame seems to have impressed even these rich assholes. They start questioning everything about him, and he tries to answer in a way that sounds revealing but really isn’t. He isn’t an extrovert, however, and it shows. Talking to these guys, he has to watch his every word, react swiftly, and lie carefully. It’s like speaking with Schlatt before his very sudden change in attitude.

Huh.

Anyways, it’s _really_ tiring. He feels about as tired as he did after long scouting missions or a full day of sparring. How is that even possible? He’s just standing there.

They keep asking about his transformation into a hybrid, and he keeps deflecting and dancing around the questions. At this point he’s used to it, but they go from subtle to incredibly direct as frustration grows.

“So how did you go from being a human to a hybrid anyways?” they ask sickly sweet. Tubbo thinks he’ll get diabetes.

“Oh, I guess Schlatt’s wisdom rubbed off on me so much, I started looking like him!” the laugh he forces out is so fake it hurts. This is far too nerve wracking. When a waitress offers him champagne, he accepts gratefully. Oddly, Schlatt only takes one glass, gaze far too intense and focused on him. It’s uncomfortable, and the secretary squirms under the critical scrutiny. Why does everyone have to be judging him right now? Inevitably, he’ll disappoint someone. He always does.

Taking another drink of liquid courage, he makes some overly polite excuse and backs away slowly, all smiles and lighthearted joy. Once he’s far enough away, the smile drops like someone shot in the head with a piercing arrow, and the sigh he lets out is so tired and strained. Talking to Tommy or Wilbur was never this-

Whatever. Floating in the crowd, he listens for a conversation to take part in that won’t drain his soul of every drop of youth in his veins. Instead, he hears something that genuinely offends him.

Humans never think he can hear them, especially in a crowd so far away, but his fluffy brown ears perk up and catch every rude syllable. God, he needs another drink.

He shouldn’t go over there. He _should_ mingle with someone more reasonable and maybe talk economics or foreign affairs.

He’s going over there. Of course. After downing another drink. It _burns_ going down. He can feel it in his throat.

“Good evening! What are you lovely lot talking about?” he smiles brighter than the sun, like he didn’t hear what they said clear as day. 

Most of them look guilty, refusing to meet his eye and muttering out some half-baked excuse. Not everyone seems so modest, however.

“We were just discussing relations with the Piglin Federation. We’ve been trying to set up a stable gold trade, but _you know how pigs are._ Greedy little dirty beasts,” the man towering over him has this really obnoxious laugh that has his peers nervously following suit. For a moment the secretary starts laughing along, amused by how this man with what looks like a gold studded handkerchief is calling others greedy. Then it hits him.

He’s indirectly insulting his older brother. His smile drops once more, chest tightening hot with bitterness. What he should do is say something wry and subtle, winning this one with wits and social awareness.

But fuck, he really is tired of these bastards and having to bend to their wills over and over again.

“At least they have a firm grasp on when to shut the fuck up,” and wow, that came out way more aggressively than he meant to. What was wrong with him? The atmosphere becomes tenser than he is, the man’s friends looking between the two, waiting for something terrible to happen. They’re staring each other straight in the eye, daring one another to say something.

“At least I’m not a demon.”

His face twists in nothing less than pure rage, mouth raised in a snarl, fists clenched, and head unconsciously titling his horns forward. Unmoving, his breaths run ragged. Just calm down. Just calm down. _Just-_

Without warning, the top of the drink in the jerk’s hand catches aflame. It smells like white cake.

Yelping, he drops it, glass shattering on the floor and fire extinguishing before anyone else could see it. His friends look at him, bewildered.

“He- But I-,” he stammers, clearly at a loss, knowing it would sound crazy. Wordlessly, he glares at the hybrid and storms off indignantly, some people staying behind to snicker at the outburst, others running after him concerned.

Tubbo just stands there amazed. _Did he do that?_ Did anyone else see?

Was he really a demon?

Schlatt’s hand on his shoulder makes him jump.

“What an interesting guy. Didn’t think he’d get intimidated by a kid half his size, but hey, I don’t hire just anybody!” laughing, clearly trying to settle things down and lighten the mood. Did he see? As everyone else chuckles along, that hand tightens and whisks him away.

Once they were far enough out, his escort leans low into his ear, voice whispered and furious, “What the fuck was that?” The grip turned bruising.

“I didn’t mean- I’m sorry, I-“

“Do you want everyone calling you a witch? An angry mob demanding your removal? Do you know what’ll happen if _Dream_ hears about this?”

“I- I didn’t-“ the teen starts anxiously stammering again. He feels like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Schlatt sighs, temper dampening, “Look, it’s alright. Just… you gotta know to control your emotions. Before you master everything, you can’t let them get outta control, okay?”

“Y-yes, sir!” he squeaked.

“Don’t look so guilty. It’s my fault for not telling you. Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you,” the president smiles, hand moving to pat his back comfortingly.

“Thank you?”

“Now go talk to someone that won’t make you wanna light them on fire,” and with that he shoves him toward a very colorfully dressed sheep hybrid.

“Oh hello, you little cutie! I’m Captain Puffy,” she smiles impossibly bright. Yeah, this is a lot better.

Finally relaxing, no one notices the British man in a beanie, glaring in through a window.


	12. Smokey Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cyclamen is in bloom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: takes almost a month to post a new chapter.  
> Also me: posts another one a few days later.
> 
> Cha cha real smooth.
> 
> I was gonna post this earlier too but then I passed tf out oop-

Dream was being unreasonable like usual. Honestly, the word “considerate” was probably missing from his vocabulary. The demanding hunter was pestering his private messages, insisting on a meeting with Schlatt.

_As secretary of state, it’s my responsibility to meet with any foreign representatives or dignitaries. The president is very busy and cannot meet with you every time you ask, Dream._

_I’m leader of the biggest nation in this world. I’m sure he can make time for me._

_I thought King Eret was leader?_

_Yeah, well, he answers to me. I’m the world owner.  
Just ask him. I’m sure he’ll say yes._

_Have you asked him?_

_He directed me to you._

_Well, then there’s your answer._

_It’s important. Just ask him at the very least._

_If it’s so important, then you can at least tell me what it’s about?_

_Just ask him._

Tubbo was three seconds away from pulling own his hair out or riding over to Dream SMP just to punch that smug jerk in the face.

_Either you tell me, or I start ignoring these messages for wasting my time._

_It’s about your apparent skill in fire magic._

Oh.

_…I’ll ask him._

_Thank you._

Uh oh. Well, this was a problem. His legs felt shaky as he pushed himself off his desk, walking and breathing very deliberately to his boss’ office. Knocking louder than intended, he cringes at the sound.

“Who is it?”

“Me, sir,” voice just loud enough to be heard clearly.

“Come in.”

The teen walks in meekly, head bowed, back at an angle, ears down in an entirely submissive manner. There was an open bottle of alcohol on his desk, but it was wine and only a quarter empty.

Baby steps.

“Tubbo, you don’t need to be scared of me. Whatever it is, I won’t be mad. Probably,” he sighs.

Closing the door behind him, he opts to stand behind the chair, holding onto it rather than sitting.

“It’s about Dream,” he offers information slowly, waiting for a negative reaction.

“Yeah, I thought so. That guy won’t stop bothering me every few minutes. It’s annoying as hell,” reclining back in his chair, the hybrid closes his eyes, drained.

“He wants to arrange a meeting to talk about… me.” Schlatt sits up and opens an eye at him.

“About the party incident.”

They’re sitting up fully now, irritated, “God, kid, stop being mysterious and just spit it out.”

“He knows about me using fire.” The older hybrid just stares at him for a while. The silence is suffocating.

He cards his fingers through his hair, “Yeah, I figured something like this might happen. I was just hoping it wouldn’t. Look, just tell him _we_ can meet next week, whatever time. By we I mean my whole cabinet, including you. Try not to make a big deal about it. When we get there, I’m gonna deny everything. There’s no solid proof you did that.”

“Right… right. I’ll, uhh, get on that,” his nerves claw through, voice low and trembling.

“Tubbo, don’t blame yourself for my mistakes, okay? I’m gonna fix this. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “I trust you.”

Schlatt makes a face at that, but it’s gone before he can discern what it means, turning around in his chair to face the wall.

“Okay,” the word is pensive on his tongue.

\--------------------------------

The day comes quicker than Tubbo would have liked, and way too late for Dream. The man threw a fit when he was told to wait a whole week. He ignored the threats. If Schlatt told him to make it seem nonchalant, he was damn well sure to listen.

So here they were, in the White House meeting room waiting on Dream. For someone so insistent on coming as soon as possible, he was sure taking his damn time.

Everyone was here. The president sat staring at his hands, lost in absent thought. Quackity seemed to be the most serious of the bunch, expression grave, eyes hard. George looked impatient, longing to see his friend again, but also a bit worried. It was a serious meeting after all; the cabinet rarely met anyone together. Meanwhile, Tubbo was an absolute nervous wreck. The top of his head and horns were firmly planted into the nearby wall as the rest of his body just hung there limply, trying to not go into a full panic attack. _It’ll be okay. Schlatt told him it’d be okay._

He heard the light footsteps of their visitor before anyone else, jumping up and frantically straightening his tie. Everyone else took that as their cue to stand straight and smooth their expressions.

When the tyrant enters, he’s alone. Strange that Eret or even Sapnap wasn’t there, for their own respective reasons. As always, the masked man’s features are unreadable, mouth neutral and the rest of his face obstructed from view.

Their leader goes in first, smiling and shaking his hand, “Heeeyy, Dreamy boy! Glad you could make it. What do you think of our beautiful country, huh?”

“Well, I can say it certainly looks better than when Wilbur was in charge.” Quackity shakes his hand with far too much force.

“Yeah, that’s not really saying much,” he has a full laugh, clearly trying to warm Dream up. They don’t look swayed. When they offer their hand, Tubbo tries too hard to act confident, forgetting his ram strength and probably bruising his guest’s hand.

George ignores all formality and goes in for the hug, visibly sinking into the touch. While Dream smiles, the British man keeps his lips tight. He just looks tired, beyond exhausted. The young hybrid notices his boss frown ever so slightly. George was the only one with questionable allegiances. What if this meeting went in the worst possible direction? Which side would he choose?

Once the pair separate, everyone settles on their own sides of the table, with Tubbo to his president’s right, Quackity to his left, and George next to him, leaning away. It was time to get down to business.

“So, what did you ride all the way up here to talk about?” Schlatt asks despite everyone knowing the answer.

“I’ve gotten some disturbing reports that your secretary of state is some sort of wizard. I have intel that he used fire magic at a recent gathering you attended,” tone steady and cool.

“What exactly did you hear?” he says in a way that gives nothing away.

“Apparently, your little kid over there got into an argument with some guy, it ending in a stare off he won by setting his drink on fire,” his words are starting to gain some heat.

“Hmm, how’d he do that?” The teen knew this would be about him, but having the two most powerful people in the world talk about him while being right there was nauseating.

“He used magic, like I just said.”

“Mmm, so a guy’s drink randomly catches fire near him, and you naturally assume magic is the cause,” he sounds casually unamused.

The tyrant is really beginning to get aggravated, “I’m not an idiot, Schlatt. I know you used powerful magic to turn him into what you are. I know that type of magic has strong power associated with it. The people he hates literally catching on fire around him? It’s all the evidence I need.”

“Sounds like jumping to conclusions to me,” he doesn’t cave.

Dream is standing now, “Deny and dance around all you want, Schlatt, but I know what I heard. I got intel from someone I trust, and it doesn’t matter if you lie to me. I’m not stupid, and everyone will believe me when I tell them what really happened. You’re not answering to my people, you’re answering to _me!_ ”

The hybrid looks irritated as well now, “What do you want, Dream?”

An accusatory digit points at the teen from a fingerless glove, “I want _him_ exiled.”

The room is silent for a few agonizing moments. Even George looks shocked at the words that came out of the masked man’s mouth. Tubbo forgets how to breathe.

Schlatt doesn’t even sound angry, the only thing painting his tone is complete disbelief, “What?”

“I want Tubbo exiled from the country. _I don’t want any demons around._ I’ll take him out a few kilometers, set him up a place to stay, give him supplies, then leave. I just don’t want a magic user anywhere close to here.”

The president rubs his temples, “Or else?” Tubbo is shaking. He thinks he’s going to throw up.

“Or else I tell everyone, along with my spy and the man he threatened as witnesses. Would love to see what happens to him then,” there’s not even a hint of malice, just curiosity. Somehow, that makes it worse. It makes him feel cold, like someone splashed freezing lake water over him. He can feel his spine freezing up, like ice creeping underneath his skin.

There’s glaring, “The people love him. No one would dare touch him, and I’d harshly punish anyone who dare try.”

There’s this sick smile on the hunter’s face, matching his pale mask, “Mine aren’t so understanding, I’m afraid. There would be a call to action. _Burn the witch._ If your nation fails to get the job done, I’m more than willing to start a hunt. Everyone would be behind me.”

Schlatt is the one losing his composure now, “Are you threatening me with war if I don’t off my right hand?”

“ _Off_ is such a strong word. I’m simply asking that he be relocated. I’d make sure he’s comfortable, safe, but far away. That’s it. Of course, I’d check up on him every once in a while to make sure he’s alive and… not performing any Herobrine magic.” The thought is terrifying. All alone with nobody but Dream to keep him company? It sounds like some sort of disaster in the making. Knowing them, they’d be doing a bit more than innocently monitoring. The young hybrid would rather be sent straight to hell. He whips his head toward his mentor with pleading eyes. There’s no response.

“Or you’ll declare war?”

“Oh, I could do a lot more than that, much more. How about some nice obsidian walls, since you people seem to be confused about where your borders are?”

Quackity finally seems to have recovered his wits, “What the fuck, Dream? You can’t just push us around whenever you want. You and I both know you were just waiting on some bullshit reason to jerk us around! This isn’t about _him,_ it’s about you trying to assert power.”

“That _thing_ is a threat, and I’m just trying to make sure no one gets hurt. You’re all being unreasonable.” That statement is so wrong and hypocritical, it makes the teen want to laugh from how ridiculous it is.

“Oh bullshit! We both know you want him gone to hurt Manburg. You can’t stand the fact we’re growing, expanding. Anyone dares to have some sort of power? You start crying and throwing a tantrum. Don’t play dumb! It won’t work on me.”

Dream pushes his chair in, pure black eyes staring straight into Schlatt’s slanted yellow ones, “Think about it. What’s more important, your country or this child? Once you figure out the right answer, message me. I’m giving you a week to make the right decision.” And with that, he leaves without another word, the door closing behind him is deafening and all too final. The sound echoes though the secretary’s bones.

The VP is the first one to break the silence, “Who does he think he is? Does he really think we’re gonna listen to him? To just do whatever he says and give in?” No one else responds, not even Schlatt. He’s just sitting there, head in his hands, thinking. Quackity visibly wilts at the lack of reaction. _This is it, huh?_

Tubbo stands up next, eyes watery, “I guess I’ll um, go pack my things.” Turning to walk away, he feels someone grab his wrist, and knows instantly by their touch just who it is stopping him.

“I promised I’d protect you. You ain’t goin anywhere,” voice firm, resolute.

His voice is wavering, cracking under pressure, “Schlatt, I’m not worth it. You have to choose what’s more important-“

A growl cuts him off, “Shut up. Stop self-deprecating for one second and realize you are important.” Being pulled into a hug, the teen buries a head into his mentor’s shoulder so no one can see the tears spilling out of his eyes, chest heaving.

“Not as important as an entire country,” but they can hear the tears in the way his voice breaks.

“I don’t care. I brought you into this mess, and I’m not having you suffer cause of my actions. If anyone’s getting exiled, it’s me.”

“Yeah, c’mon Twobo, we’re not abandoning you. We’re like a weird family, and you’re a part of it,” Quackity inserts himself, making it a group hug. George just sits there awkwardly, rubbing his arm.

“Quackity, take Tubbo out and make sure he doesn’t try run off and sacrifice himself to Dream or some shit. There’s a conversation I need to have with a certain someone.” Nodding, the vice drapes an arm over the shorter hybrid’s shoulders and leads him out of the room. George goes to follow.

“Sit,” is all Schlatt says, cold and commanding. George pales, slowly returning to his seat, subdued as if trying not to trigger the fight instincts of the taller man before him. The door closes, and Tubbo wonders what they’re talking about.

\--------------------------------

The president sends tansy and valerian to the masked dictator. Dream regards the bouquet curiously, wondering if this is some sort of peace offering.

Red columbine litters Schlatt’s bedroom floors.


	13. Witch Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bad with pacing oops.
> 
> Some of this is kinda unrealistic but whatever.

Tubbo should be happy. His 17th birthday was a few days ago. All of his friends in Manburg gave him gifts, except Fundy who has been very mysteriously absent as of late. He even messaged Tommy to rub it in his face. They didn’t respond. Strange, but he hasn’t been the best friend as of late, so it’s not really a surprise his brother might be a little upset with him.

Oh yeah, and the war.

Well, it wasn’t really a war _yet._ It was more the first stage. Prewar. Schlatt sent several agents for more intense spying and others for general recon. Apparently, Dream has barely prepared anything. His mentor told him he doesn’t think the tyrant even realized he declared war on him, which makes no sense whatsoever. If a declaration was sent, then how could-

You know what? He’s not even going to think about it. It’s not important. There are far greater things to be eating at his mind, like the fact that George was thrown in jail.

It was a shock to some, not so much to others. Everyone knew the cabinet member had a strong fondness of his friend, so when Schlatt told him the man couldn’t be trusted as far as one could throw him, Tubbo understood. Jail just seemed rather extreme. But when he visited him, it appeared more house arrest than jail. The place he was trapped in was very nice, with all the luxuries he had previously. He just couldn’t leave to maybe betray them or give all their sensitive information to the enemy.

With a scheduled release after the war, he didn’t actually seem too fussed about it. It’s like he understood as well, taking the whole situation very nonchalantly.

“I hope things go well,” he sighs, laying on the floor of George’s cell.

“You mean you hope you win?” the Brit smiles at him, and Tubbo doesn’t miss the way he says “you” instead of “we.”

“Yeah, don’t really want your boyfriend throwing me out into the wilderness and stalking me,” he laughs despite the severity of the situation, and George punches him in the shoulder playfully. Joking together, the secretary hopes this isn’t the last time they’ll be on good terms with one another. They weren’t exactly the closest friends, but bad blood and ruined friendships were never good.

Things will be okay in the end. The universe always has a way of working everything out.

His nerves refuse to die, and he tells himself it’s just the anxiety.

\--------------------------------

The air smells like peat moss and begonias. There’s this unexplainable electricity in the air, like a simple spark could set off everything, the calm before the storm. It’s invigorating in a way, and terrifying.

He’s sat here, before the masses adding adjustments to his netherite helmet, adding holes for his new horns and even putting armor in place for the tops of them. Other than that, there’s new engravings in the deep purple, intricate with flowers and bees. The president isn’t wearing any armor yet, but he’s seen the set. Strange for a man so extra and into melodrama to have such boring armor, simple and like any other. It really showed just how little he cared for fighting.

To give him credit, his skill with the economy made them wealthy enough to provide just about everyone who didn’t already have it with netherite armor and weapons. The only downside was his complete and utter lack of fighting experience.

That’s alright. They were a team, working together to create a good battle strategy. None of them had to go it alone.

Like right now, they were together on the stage about to announce the war to everyone. It was nerve wracking, and Tubbo could barely focus on what he was doing. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to everyone looking up to him like this, hundreds of eyes. When the time comes, the tall hybrid holds his hands up for silence. Tubbo and Quackity both drop what they’re doing to fold their hands behind their back and stand up straight, clad in armor and trying to project strength. He hopes no one can see him sweat.

Once it’s quieted down enough, he takes the mic and speaks, confident and booming, “My fellow Manburgians, Dream has threatened our country with war.” He pauses a moment to let it sink in, surprised and worried murmurs rippling through the crowd. He holds his hands up once more, and they obey.

“He’s made ridiculous claims with absolutely no evidence. Furthermore, they have no impact on his country. Seriously, if you’re gonna make false accusations to start a war, at least make better ones!” he clears his throat, growing more serious.

“The point is, the _real_ reason we’re being threatened is because that tyrant, that _monster_ says if we don’t do everything he asks of us, if we don’t betray our own citizens and hand them over to him to turn into his soldiers, we die. Now, while I don’t want war, I mean, who does? I won’t hand over anyone to that guy. That’s a fate I wish on no one. Besides, are we just gonna let him walk all over us? Today it’s the exile of our citizens. The next? Hand over our land? And then? If we keep settling for appeasement, there’ll be no country left. No, my fellow citizens, I say we stand and fight! I say we show Dream just how strong we are. Now, I understand if you don’t want to fight. There’s no draft. This country has always thrived on the patriotism of the few. Now, I’m gonna be honest, I’m not really a warrior either. I’m not so great at it. I’ve died a few times. It sucks, and I’m not exactly thrilled either, but I’ll be _dammed_ if I sit all cute up in my office while my people die for us, for our _freedom!_ Are you kidding me? What kind of wimpy president does that? And I humbly ask you all to fight with me! Now, are we going to just let Dream take our liberty away without a fight?” he pauses for an answer, and the crowd roars with a chorus of “no!”

“Are we going to lay down and beg and cry for Dreamy boy to have mercy?” this time he points the microphone toward the crowd, and they respond even louder this time.

‘What are gonna do?” he’s screaming now.

“Fight!” they scream back.

“Huh?” a hand comes up to an ear like he didn’t hear them. Obviously for show. Tubbo thinks he’ll go deaf if they get any louder. Of course, they do.

“FIGHT!” they all cheer like they aren’t signing their own death warrants.

“Then follow me!” he waves and starts marching off the stage toward the armory. About 3/4ths of them follow, those staying behind mainly being parents with children and a few people who look scared or never approved of their president in the first place. He doesn’t blame them. They were just told they’re going to war and immediately asked to lay down their lives. Nikki stands there with this shell-shocked expression on her face, unmoving. He wants to rush over and hug her, but his place was with Schlatt right now. Taking one last look over the shoulder, the young secretary and Quackity follow behind together, the Latino leading the way.

He thinks he’s going to pass out.

\--------------------------------

How did he do it? Somehow, it was possible to make most of the country ready to fight in a war they just learned about a few hours ago. Schlatt left with a few encouraging words some minutes ago for the real generals to take charge, training those with less experience. Tubbo would never be able to ooze that much charisma, but watching someone with that amount of people skills was fascinating to him.

To be fair, most of the people in Manburg were used to battle. They wouldn’t have joined this infant of a nation otherwise. There was something very exciting and noble about it.

Personally, Tubbo was just here because his family and friends were here. Now, he wasn’t with any of them and still going into battle. How did any of this happen?

And then there’s the simple fact that this is all his fault. People were going to fight and die for him, and they didn’t even know it.

Schlatt and Quackity kept reassuring him that this wasn’t really about him, it was about power, but that didn’t really make him feel any less guilty. If he had anything to say about it, Dream would have exiled him days ago.

He buried his face in fresh lavender and tried to breathe. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. This is Dream’s fault. What did Schlatt say? Stop blaming yourself for others hurting you. Okay. It’s okay. He can do this. He’s fought many battles before, and this one will be no different. There’s deep, ancient strength within him, and Dream should fear his power, not the other way around. Maybe they already did, and that’s why this whole thing was going down in the first place.

The thought of making one of the strongest people in the universe afraid makes him smile.

\--------------------------------

Today’s the day, and honestly the teen isn’t ready. He isn’t sure if most of these people were ready either, but what choice did they have?

Focusing on his hatred for Dream rather than his hatred for himself, he pushes on, something dangerous churning deep within his stomach. He feels like before he set that guy’s drink on fire, tired of other people thinking they can push him around. It makes his muscles hot and sets his expression grave, face forward and determined like an actual leader.

And he feels like it, at the front of the march with the president at his side. Not even Quackity is here with them, commanding his own group in another tunnel. All the eyes on him burn, and he wonders how many of them are distrustful after the reveal.

Yeah, the masked tyrant outed him to everyone. And while his mentor encouraged him to refute and deny these claims, he simply accepted them. Lying to so many people would make him physically ill. This wasn’t some spy mission. These people were putting their trust in him. If he were going to ask them to die, being honest was the very least he could do.

Some left right then and there, faces screwed in disgust and horror as they silently stalked out of the room.

Most stayed rooted firmly in place, but they seemed much less confident, glancing at him wearily. Their eyes perked up when it was announced the magic user was on their side and was ready to fight the enemy with all their combined skill and knowledge. Apparently, his unknown and forbidden nature could be overlooked if it were for their benefit.

That didn’t mean the suspicious eyes on him stopped, not at all. Hopefully, he could prove himself to these people. That determination to make his country proud made him strong, pushed his feet forward against the cold dirt of the tunnel that had been dug directly into the heart of Dream SMP territory. He could taste the air, damp with sweat and apprehension.

The plan was to pop out of the earth near where Dream lived, taking him by surprise and capturing him. With one ruler down, it would be up to King Eret to make decisions from then on, and the cabinet easily agreed the monarch would be much simpler to negotiate with and more willing to listen.

The thought of fighting Dream made his throat swell up, magic or no. Whatever. There was an entire army of around two hundred people supporting him. There was no way one person could ever defend against that, no matter how much of master they were.

Still, something wasn’t right. That thought sat heavy at the back of his skull, screaming that things were definitely off. This was too easy. Dream is a master manipulator and not to be underestimated. There must be some sort of ace up his sleeve, there always was. The anxiety builds in him the closer they come to death day, every step forward another one closer to a sword in the chest, until it all spills over when a text comes in through his communicator from Tommy, who has been oddly silent these past couple weeks.

_run._

Something in that sets off a primal instinct deep within, extinguishing his fire and having him freeze up for a millisecond before being able to order his legs forward again. Schlatt eyes him curiously, so he simply answers by raising his wrist up for the man to see. His eyes widen and he stops dead in his tracks. He takes a few moments of deliberation, shifting weight side to side, deep in thought.

“Change of plans,” yelling to all the soldiers, calm and trying to act like he knew what the hell he was doing, “we’re leaving the tunnel here. Everyone prepare for a fight.” The commander in chief must have assumed some sort of trap lie ahead and grabs onto his arm. Oh right, no one knew he was a magic user as well. They planned to claim any power the president used was really the teen’s own.

Helping with his own limited earth magic and using far too many dramatic hand motions, the earth opens up, giving way to a slope leading just right inside the country. There’s a collection of gasps and murmurs about it. That’s right, most of them have never seen a person use magic before. It was probably quite the thing to take in.

Regardless, they stand behind him, feet stomping strongly to the surface. Schlatt shoots a quick private message, and he assumes it’s to the VP, in charge of roughly 50 soldiers to their 150.

Any moment now they could come under attack, and the shields come up to protect against any potential archer fire. It’s quiet, far too quiet. It feels like a hand is squeezing on his heart. The pounding sound it makes echoes in his ears.

It skips a beat when his ears pick up the horrible war cry of hundreds of enemy warriors.

They spill out from behind buildings like a wave, and he can feel the fear spike behind him and in his own bones. So, they were prepared. If this were a regular army, they’d all be dead.

Instead, Schlatt swears quite loudly, ducking behind Tubbo so no one can see what he’s doing.

A giant wall of earth erects to the right of them, protecting everyone from that side. But what good would that do? The enemy was directly ahead of them. What was Schlatt thinking?

With a snap, the wind starts. Oh right, his preferred element.

It’s like someone turned on the world’s greatest fan, hurricane strength winds ripping across the land. The grass bristles under it, buildings creak in protest, and a few trees even snap in half instantly. It was powerful enough to blow incoming arrows from their path, and some people were even tossed into the sky. Those who didn’t take shelter behind buildings were swept away and some even slammed right back into the ground. The death messages started piling up with such speed, someone may think a natural disaster just occurred.

Well, it sort of just did. Schlatt was his own natural disaster. It was frightening yet beautiful. He stands there in awe as the wind harmlessly passes around them, in the eye of the storm.

Tubbo hopes Big Q’s group is still underground.

The gusts die down as his mentor desperately attempts to catch his breath, literally out of air.

After a few moments, he whips out his phone, dialing Dream’s number. They pick up after three rings.

The commander in chief doesn’t even give any time for a hello, “There, you’ve seen the power we possess. Surrender now. You know you can’t beat us. All we’re asking is our freedom and for you to leave us alone, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Give me a moment,” infuriating as always, not even listening to them after wiping out a quarter of his army in one attack. He must be issuing orders, because his warriors change position, marching forward despite the obvious danger. Was he seriously not deterred in the slightest? Did he know he just told these people to rush toward their doom?

The president looks pissed as the voice at the other end returns, “I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in. You don’t want these people’s blood on your hands. You’re the one who should be giving up.” That confidence sets fear into the blonde and makes the older hybrid roll his eyes. There’s the obnoxiously noisy sound of typing through the speaker, followed by this soul destroying, chilling alarm coming in through hundreds of communicators. Dream was right, the message it brings makes him want to surrender immediately, legs turning to jelly, just staring at it in complete and utter disbelief and fear.

**Respawns have been disabled. World difficulty set to hardcore.**

The walls come up before any of the arrows can find a target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all see that shiny new archive warning? Yeah. It's happening.
> 
> We're in the endgame now, folks. Thanks for reading thus far <3


	14. Rät

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see what Tommy's been up to all this time, and Dream gets too cocky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bit the apple cause I loved you.
> 
> And why would you lie?

The first thing Tommy does when finally returning to Pogtopia is yell at Wilbur. His tears already dried on the way back, and he’s winded from such a long run, but that doesn’t stop him for one second.

Wilbur whips around and smirks at his heated expression before the boy can even open his mouth, “Were the rumors true?”

“Yeah,” reply curt.

“I knew he was a traitor,” and the bastard smiles like this isn’t partly his fault.

“He wasn’t! He was on our side, but you ruined it by betraying him! You know how much you blowing him into dust hurt him? A lot, let me tell you. This is your fault!” and now he’s yelling, arched forward and fists balled like a predator ready to strike.

“I betrayed him? Me? No, he betrayed us,” the madman is offended at the mere suggestion, “I knew he couldn’t be trusted, and I was right. He ran away crying as soon as things got bad. If he really were on our side, he would have stayed no matter what. Family sticks together!”

“Family doesn’t violently murder family either, you asshole!”

“Like you haven’t hurt him countless times before.”

Defensive, “That was different! He’s having a horrible time being mistreated and manipulated by Schlatt and you just hurt him. No wonder he doesn’t wanna be near us.” The realization hits him the moment it comes out of his mouth, and all the steam instantly vanishes, rising from his skin.

“I don’t care whatever dumb, horrible thing you’ve got planned anymore, Wil. I just want him home, safe and sound and unharmed.”

“Hmm,” and the man cools instantly, “So you’ll help me kill Schlatt?”

“As long as we get Tubbo back, I don’t care who we kill.”

“Perfect,” the blonde doesn’t even need to look at him to hear the conniving smile in his voice.

\--------------------------------

It was incredibly early in the morning, the sun’s glow just barely tinting the night sky. The stars were strong, but the sun was the brightest of them all, outshining all their siblings before eventually going to sleep, all their brothers and sisters carefully peeking around the corner to see if they had gone before relaxing into the cool sky once more. Right now, they were starting to feel the blinding light of their younger brother, shielding their eyes and looking away.

Tommy rubbed his eyes, waking slowly with the sun, “Hey, Techno.” The pig hybrid simply hums at him and dips his head in greeting. Unlike his youngest brother, he had stayed up all night instead of waking up early. He had a habit of not sleeping for over 24 hours at a time and then going into a coma for 15-16 hours. Really, it defeated the purpose of staying up for so long, but that was just the pig’s style. It sort of made planning a schedule difficult though, never knowing when he’d be up. Why couldn’t he just operate on a 24-hour cycle like a normal person?

Well, no one in this family was normal anyway.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Tommy inevitably breaks it, “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t really know if we’re doing the right thing. Wilbur’s batshit insane and teaming with Dream. Is this really the best way to go about things?” he rephrases.

Techno just hums again, lost in thought. Why was he asking him of all people for moral advice? He was probably one of the most immoral people he knew.

“I really don’t know. Does it even matter? No matter what path you take in life, I’ve found it usually turns out okay as long as you stay true to yourself and make the right decisions on it. It doesn’t really matter who you follow as long as you don’t let them define you. Don’t let Wilbur force you into anything you don’t wanna do, and I think you’ll be fine.”

He waits a moment before adding, “You can’t fight what direction fate pulls you in, but you can still shape your own destiny. There’s always good and bad people on every side of a conflict. Looking at things black and white is boring.” Of course the English major would find a way to tie this back into Greek mythology.

“Nerd,” he teases, and Techno looks like he was just slapped in the face. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding! Thank you, Techno. You’re smart sometimes.”

“And you’re semi-intelligent too sometimes, Tommy,” he quips back. They both smile and watch the rising sun.

\--------------------------------

He doesn’t hear the plan until it’s in the news and literally everyone else already knows before him. What the hell? He _lives_ with Wilbur and still learned about the plan later than people living on the opposite side of the world, and he’s not happy about it. In fact, he’s so upset, he almost falls off the stairs and breaks his neck storming down there, just back from chopping wood.

“This is why we need the railing!” comes Techno’s shout from his farm.

The teen’s angry yell is louder, echoing off the walls of the ravine, “Wilbur! Wil, where are you?”

He strolls out from behind a rock like he doesn’t know what he just did, “No need to shout, Tommy. I’m right here.” Their conversations these days are never pleasant, sometimes polite enough but something he doesn’t look forward to. This one is no different. That shit eating grin alone is enough to make him ever more enraged.

“You want him _exiled?_ ” and he’s right in his taller brother’s face, on his toes and trying to make himself more intimidating. Wilbur isn’t fazed.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? Him away from Schlatt? We’re saving him.”

“What? No, you’re handing him over to Dream,” genuine confusion in his brows. He expected Wilbur to double down. Techno watches all of this like it’s high-quality tea, peeking from behind the thick stone walls.

“We’re freeing him. Right now, our top priority is getting him away from that animal’s influence. Once he’s away for a while, he’ll realize he was just being used and come back to us.”

“But Dream-“

“Just wants to weaken Schlatt. If he loses Tubbo, he’ll be a lot less powerful. That tyrant is hurting him. Don’t you want him out of there as soon as possible?” The blonde goes silent because there’s no way he can argue with that. Is he being honest though? Tommy can never tell anymore.

Staring straight into his eyes, searching, “Tell me you’re telling the truth. _Promise_ me.”

The older meets his intense gaze with one of his own, “I promise.”

“…Okay.”

\--------------------------------

They’re waiting on Dream in his shared home with Sapnap, who was currently guarding the door to the console room. The masked man was in there, commanding his army and doing whatever else.

The tyrant had said the plan was to pressure the Manburgian president to peacefully hand over Tubbo to avoid the major destruction war brings. They were here for if that didn’t pan out and they had to take him by force. Tommy hated the asshole, but he’d put aside any differences to help Tubbo. His older brother hadn’t been answering his direct messages for a month, and he was deeply concerned. When they finally started replying, he didn’t know what to say for once. Whatever. They could talk plenty when they had him back.

He’s thinking about what to say to him after the months apart when he gets the warning.

**Respawns have been disabled. World difficulty set to hardcore.**

What the fuck?

_What the fuck?!_

Whipping his head toward Wilbur, he searches for any sign of premeditation. There’s hesitation in his features, but that’s it. Even Sapnap looks more worried than him, wiping the sweat collecting on his hands. Techno looks absolutely terrified, and that’s honestly the most concerning aspect here.

Dream exits the room calmly, his friend stepping aside. That mask still irritatingly hides any worry he may feel.

As always, Tommy is the first to speak, “What the fuck is going on here? Why did you _do_ that? Are you crazy?”

“Relax, Tommy. It’s just an intimidation tactic to force Schlatt to hand the kid over. How else did you think I was going to pressure him? Go up there and yell at him?” in that annoyingly condescending tone he loved so much.

“But what if-“

“But what if nothing. Look outside,” The teen wants to punch him in the throat for interrupting him, bristling as he follows the man in staring out the window.

There are tall earthen walls surrounding the Manburgians, and they appear to be retreating back underground, or at least he can see most of them run from behind the rock and disappear into the dirt below. Likewise, most of Dream’s army is fleeing as well. It takes them a moment for the realization to kick in, and they go from confused to panicked to erupting in complete chaos, knocking each other over in their frenzy to get to safety. Did their leader really not tell them? What a dick move! But he supposes no one would have come if they knew in the first place. Maybe a handful of them don’t abandon their duty, but they hide behind buildings instead of charging forward like before. He doesn’t blame them.

“Schlatt’s a dictator, but my sources say he’s not the permakill type. He’ll give up to avoid any bloodshed if he’s smart.” Tommy’s highly skeptical but nods anyway. If this is the plan to get Tubbo back, then fine.

Technoblade doesn’t seem nearly as understanding, “What the hell? Are you all _insane?_ There is absolutely no way this can go well! Someone is going to die over this! Do you really want that?” Tommy doesn’t think he’s ever seen his older brother so afraid in his entire life, and he’s the bravest person he knows. Not a good omen.

Dream moves his head as if he’s rolling his eyes at the pig, “No one is going to die, Techno.” He talks to him like the very thought is ludicrous.

“Oh yeah, we’re in the middle of a war with someone possessing _godlike powers of epic proportions,_ but no, no, no, you guys. It’s totally fine! Nothing bad could ever happen in this scenario!” he’s screaming now, furiously pointing an accusing finger at that pale mask. Something lights in his eyes, and he suddenly drops his exasperation to return his focus to his family.

“Wilbur, Tommy, let’s leave. It’s too dangerous here,” he’s more commanding than asking. Neither of the pair moves a muscle.

“C’moooon, Techno. Can’t handle the heat? I thought you were supposed to be courageous,” Wilbur still has that sweet ring to his words like he doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation.

The teen ignores that, “Listen, I can’t leave when Tubbo’s in danger. As long as he’s in the line of fire, I’m staying here. There’s no way I’m just _leaving_ him. Not now.” That resoluteness just seems to upset his older brother even more.

“You could die, Tommy. Please, I don’t wanna lose any of you over this. I _can’t,_ ” that last word cracks in his throat in a way that makes the blonde’s knees weak and heart hurt, but he isn’t leaving now. He can’t.

“I’m sorry, Techno,” he really is, but that’s clearly not the answer the pig was looking for.

“Fine,” his royal gown sways as he turns away, sullen. “But mark my words, someone here is going to lose someone they love. I already know it.”

Whipping back around, he gives a few final words to everyone, “ _Dream,_ you’re a bastard.” The venom leaves as he faces his family, “You two, I love you _so much,_ but I’m not dying today. Don’t do anything stupid. It’s not worth it. Goodbye. Stay on your toes.” And with that, he marches out of there, netherite boots clicking noisily along the floor as he leaves.

No one knows what to say, quiet as Dream sends someone a private message.

Sapnap chuckles, “Wow, no inspirational advice for me?” His laugh grows incredibly awkward as no one smiles back. “Yeah… Imma just go.” He runs out like his life depends on it. Just the three remained. Their communicators lit up together.

**ButterflyWeed has been slain by BadBoyHalo.**

Techno was right, someone has already died. Dream swears under his breath.

“C’mon, let’s go. I know where they are,” the masked man has his mouth set in a hard line, and Tommy wants to disagree, to stay right here where it was safe, but his body follows regardless.

They’re running, landscape passing in a blur as they accompany Dream. How did those trees get snapped in half? What the hell happened?

They must be heading in the right direction, because there’s ice everywhere. Long shards of it litter various buildings and stick in the ground. The further the run, the wetter everything seems to become.

It takes about 20 straight minutes of sprinting and weaving through buildings to make it where they supposedly were last seen.

It’s the community house, world portal sitting innocuously in the center as always, a million stars in its abyss. Did they go through? It certainly would lead to safety. The world hub was safeguarded. No one could die there. He’s thinking on it when there’s a loud thump to his left. Head swiveling, Dream’s shield has an arrow embedded in it right in the line of his head.

It happens so quickly. His savior darts forward incredibly fast, and the Manburgian soldier stood zero chance, having their skull cleaved in half by Dream’s impossible reflexes and netherite axe. The death message plays, and his body falls to the floor with a sickening thump. It doesn’t disappear like it should when respawning is on, a horrible warning for all to see. He wants to thank Dream for possibly saving his life, but the words get caught in his throat.

They answer anyway, “You’re welcome.” Even Wilbur looks shaken up, eyes not leaving the crippled corpse like he can’t believe it.

“C’mon, let’s look for ‘em,” and the pair wordlessly follow, faces pale. Dark circles are already forming under their eyes.

They stick together, upturning furniture in nearby buildings and glancing behind their backs every few seconds. At an unexpected sound, Tommy gasps and has his shield up and sword drawn in a millisecond. He sighs, relieved and weary. It was just a lamp falling over.

Tommy thinks for a second that he may finally be able to breathe when he gets the notification.

**Sapnap has been slain by Tubbo.**

A million emotions flash over Dream’s face, none of which anyone sees. Tommy has to do a double take, rubbing his eyes thinking he’s seeing shit. There’s no way Tubbo could permakill anyone, especially not Sapnap. The pair had been friends before this whole war shit started. His Tubbo would never do this.

He should have come for his friend sooner.

Nobody says anything. They _can’t_ say anything, all just staring at their wrists, eyes wide.

Wordlessly, Dream starts off toward where they came, and they follow behind. He can’t imagine what they might be feeling right now. Even if he was sort of a jerk and this was a little his fault, the blonde can’t help but feel immensely sorry for him. Sapnap was his oldest friend.

It only takes five minutes after their departure to see another message.

**Quackity drowned whilst trying to escape Punz.**

Lord, this really was a shitshow. Everything was getting out of hand way too fast. Tommy didn’t like Big Q, especially after helping Schlatt win the election that got him kicked out of his own country, but the man didn’t deserve _permadeath._

This was fucking awful. He should have listened to Techno. This whole plan was a bad idea to begin with. There’s the tang of blood in the air, and it makes his head dizzy and vision blurry. How did this happen? How did he get here surrounded by death and destruction? With the people he knows and just talked to being gone forever? It’s just so much to take in. He’s never witnessed a permadeath before, and the only thing keeping his head forward and legs moving is _Tubbo._ His muscles burn from overuse, but he ignores it. Wilbur is starting to breathe heavy beside him.

The next message is a random Manburg warrior slain by Punz. He should probably stop looking. All the will and determination seep from his body like an open wound each time, but _what if?_ Each beep has him growing more and more tired.

And then what if happens.

\--------------------------------

Sapnap’s body is probably the second worst thing Tommy’s ever seen. There are various cuts in the chinks of his armor, and his head is cut clean off. It’s several feet from his body, and there’s blood fucking everywhere. Dream’s arms fall limp by his sides, freezing for a moment.

Realization hits the masked man, “He was protecting the console room.” If they got in there, they would have an incredible amount of control over everyone. The thought is terrifying, and Wilbur throws open the door, somehow the one in the group who had it together the most.

No one’s there.

The place looks untouched. Dream runs up to the screens, glass reflecting their tired and tear stained faces back at them. The man’s hands were caked in blood as he typed.

“Nothing. There’s no evidence they were here,” his voice is so empty, like something was knocked out of place permanently.

Then why did Tubbo kill Sapnap? Why? Did Schlatt attack him on sight and he just helped?

Tommy has no idea what’s going on anymore. He stopped knowing a while ago, skin cold and eyes dead. A child isn’t what anyone would describe him as if they saw him right now. They’d say they saw a young man torn apart by war. He sure feels like it, like 100 years have gone by in the past hour alone.

Scanning around suspiciously as they leave, Dream points out a blood trail leading from his friend’s broken corpse. They pursue, on the hunt.

Tommy was going to find him if it was the last thing he did.

The drops take them far, getting fewer and farther in between the longer they chase. They wonder if he’s gotten away when Tommy finally finds what he’s been searching for.

JSchlatt’s just sitting there when they enter. The room is huge, and the hybrid sits at the other end of it on a table, legs crossed and eyes set forward. He was expecting them.

He’s also absolutely drenched with blood. It contrasts against the pretty enchanted glow of his armor, soaking his arms, chest, neck, legs. The only place left untouched was his face, completely blank. They step forward, murder in their eyes, and he smiles disgustingly wide. That bastard didn’t deserve to be happy.

Arms spreading open like this was all some sick show to him, “So great of you lovely gentlemen to finally join me!”

Somehow, the teen finds a way to keep his tone even, colder than the deepest parts of a frozen ocean, irises reflecting the same, “Where is he?”

“Did you really think I’d give you that closure? _You’ll never find his body._ ” He’s never seen someone so sadistically pleased with themselves. Jschlatt was going to _suffer._

“Why?” the sorrow seeps through, tears spilling over again, eyes a deep stormy sea.

“The boy is _mine._ I’d rather him die than let anyone else have him, and that’s just what I did. Gotcha, Dream. Are you upset I took him and your dear old friend Sapnap away from you? I hope so,” a laugh crueler than the worst forms of torture erupts from him, bouncing off the walls and slamming against Tommy’s skull. He snarls, frenzied as the first puff of air hits him, slamming all three into the brick wall. It’s strong, but nearly as fearsome as what he’s capable of outside.

Dream recovers first, jumping over the burst of flame shot his way before sprinting headfirst into a column of fresh earth.

Tommy is screaming every profanity in the book as he rushes forward carelessly, nothing but the demon’s death on his mind.

Weaving through the pillars of rock, a rocket of fire sets him ablaze, cursing, he frantically starts rolling on the ground.

Wilbur seems a lot less sure of himself, but he has far too many reasons to hate the monster before him to stand still. There was no negotiation here. Schlatt was a cornered animal, fighting for his life, eyes wild.

Far less experienced in battle despite being a general, there’s no way for him to dodge the incoming projectile. The bolt of lightning hits him dead in his chest, and he falls like a sack of bricks and doesn’t get up. Tommy hurls a healing potion toward him, but Schlatt blocks it with another wall of rock.

**Wilbur Soot has been slain by JSchlatt.**

_No…_

_No!_

He can’t believe he failed.

He failed both of his brothers. They’re dead now and it’s because he wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t fast enough, smart enough. A broken sob claws its way out of his soul. He cant- no…

This isn’t fair. It’s not fair!

Screaming, the fire in him burns hotter than anything Schlatt could ever shoot at him.

One thing was for sure, there was no way he was going to fail Techno. How could he let his only other brother lose all his siblings in the same day?

Dream is distracting them, dancing around the jets of fire thrown his way, and Tommy uses the opportunity to run right into the monster.

They collapse in a heap on the hot floor, the heartbroken blonde over the hybrid and shoving a hand over his mouth before a burst of flame can melt his face. The demon looks scared, but he’s too focused to even enjoy it. Mournful tears mix with blood and sweat to fall and decorate the other’s cheeks.

Breaths ragged, his fists connect square with Schlatt’s face, them not even flinching. Each crack of knuckle against bone is joined by another despairing cry. Reacting swiftly, they wrestle their way on top of him this time, sword at the ready, and Tommy’s clutching onto his wrists, desperately trying to keep that edge from inching closer and closer to his throat. His nails draw scarlet from the effort, but it’s a vain attempt. They’re going to take his life next, and there’s nothing he can do about it except gaze right into Schlatt’s soul.

Then the warrior feels something hit them, and his enemy’s eyes go dark, falling to the side. He’s passed out. Dream hit his head with enough force to shatter the skull of a normal human ten times over.

It’s over. They’ve won. It doesn’t feel like it, but they did.

With glazed eyes, Tommy lifts his sword to finish the job before Dream grabs his hand.

He’s three seconds away from killing Dream before they speak, “He deserves worse.” And Tommy nods, lowering his blade. This animal didn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death, not after all he’d taken from them.

“We can have him publicly executed. Sends a message. You can do the honors if you want,” Tommy’s never heard so much hate in the man’s voice before.

On the contrary, his own sounds even emptier than he feels, “Yeah. Sure. Okay.” Schaltt’s defeat should have made him happy.

Nothing could make him happy today, and he’s not sure if he can feel okay ever again. He’s not a winner today. Everyone’s a loser. War never has any winners, only the strong and the weak.

But he doesn’t feel strong. He doesn't feel anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then I realized, you're just as naïve as I am.


	15. Old Yeller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JSchlatt reflects on how he ended up in this crazy situation, on death row.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take me out to the back of the shed  
> And shoot me in the back of the head  
> Take me out to the back of the shed  
> And shoot me in the motherfucking head

A sudden look of realization washes over his face as he realizes what’s about to happen. He’s begging, crying for Schlatt not to kill him, but the man has already made up his mind.

The sword goes straight through his heart, breaking it into a million little pieces. There was so much blood. The kid didn’t even last a minute before his muscles went slack and small little cries silenced.

There was so much blood, so much blood. It coated his armor and soaked in the chinks of it, warm and sticky and horrible.

It was so quiet then.

\--------------------------------

Schlatt gasps awake, coming to slowly, mind still in the midst of war. It takes a moment for him to calm down, but eventually his breaths even out and shoulders relax.

Wait, where the fuck was he?

Tugging on his hands, there’s an obnoxious jingling noise. Chains. He was cuffed and chained in a faintly purple room. Obsidian. No metal or earth to manipulate. He was truly trapped here, heavy obsidian cuffs covered both his hands from the world completely, palms forced together.

What happened exactly? It’s sort of difficult to recall things after someone knocks your lights out.

Oh yeah, he was knocked out. Last thing he remembers is straddling Tommy, sword in hand, about to cut that throat wide open when the world went black. _Fuck._ He lost. Now he’s here in Dream’s super prison or whatever. They were probably going to kill him or something for all his crimes.

Groaning, the hybrid sits up and thinks about everything that happened for him to end up here, in a cell, alone and facing death.

Emotions, ugh. He let his emotions get the better of him. He was a _demon,_ supposed to be uncaring and cruel. Feelings always ruin everything. He thought he could be detached from it all, manipulating everyone to do his bidding like some sick puppet master.

Instead, he was the puppet, with his emotions as the strings.

It all started with the idiots in his cabinet, Quackity and Tubbo. He played nice, encouraging and spending time with them. It worked like a charm. He got what he wanted, fiercely loyal subordinates who would do anything asked of them, as long as it wasn’t too crazy.

Well, somehow he convinced the kid to become a demon, so maybe that last part wasn’t true.

They didn’t even realize it. All Schlatt had to do was spin some fancy words about being a wizard and how proud he was, and the kid took the bait like an unsuspecting minnow. Everything was perfect. He had employees smart enough to leave alone and let take care of things, so he didn’t have to worry and had an all-powerful, loyal super weapon in the works. It could have been great.

And then he got _attached._ Ugh, he’s so stupid.

When those feelings started is a mystery, but at some point, he stopped seeing his staff as just pawns and more like family. Guess this is what happens when you live with people for weeks on end. Eventually his comments went from completely bullshit, to half lies, to wholeheartedly meaning every word that left his mouth.

Really, it was impossible to hate the pair. Quackity had this gushing and unrestricted personality, often saying whatever ridiculous thing popped into his mind first. His laugh had this effect that didn’t allow anyone within hearing range to frown, instantly lighting up a room. He was extroverted and wild and fun to be around. Schlatt can remember the two cracking jokes for hours on end, laughing up a storm. Mothers covered their kid’s ears at their crude sense of humor and chaotic energy.

Tubbo, on the other hand, was the polar opposite, quiet and reserved and intensely afraid to come off as offensive. He was like a little duckling, imprinting on whoever gave him the most attention and following them to the ends of the earth. It was far too easy to manipulate him, almost feeling bad for how naïve and innocent the poor kid was.

He was morally flexible, willing to do some pretty terrible things if his friends wanted him to. A perfect candidate to be turned into a demon, more powerful and fearsome than any amount of TNT and loyal to a fault.

When those big doe eyes looked up to him, literally and metaphorically, like some sort of role model, it was thrilling at first. A sick sense of sadistic pleasure crossed over him whenever they hugged him or asked for advice or simply checked up to see how he was doing. It felt like winning each and every time it happened. He imagined Wilbur or Tommy’s face reacting to the kid coming to their mortal enemy for comfort. It was hilarious and felt so powerful, made him feel like he could do anything.

And then one day those huge eyes came to him, full of tears, and cried, and he shushed him and whispered sweet reassurances into his ears. Something warm and heavy ached in his chest and Schlatt knew he was fucked.

Lying to himself, he ignored it and waved it off as some side effect of doing a good deed. People feel cheerful helping strangers, but none of them loved a random person. It was the act he loved, not the kid, he told to himself.

Then Dream grabbed him by the horns and Schlatt was one second away from committing bloody murder.

No, no, it was other people touching what belonged to him that made him see red, not because he cared or anything.

The kid ran to him, sobbing and holding on like he’d die if he ever let go and Schlatt knew they really did doom him.

Fundy’s monitoring of him went from watching to make sure he didn’t go traitor to telling Schlatt if anyone so much as laid a finger on him.

A man who had shouted that he was nothing more than a race traitor mysteriously fell off a cliff later in the week.

That smile was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of, doing whatever he could to get his next fix. Making his cabinet family happy became his new favorite narcotic, and when one day Tubbo accidentally called him dad during training, Schlatt almost had an overdose.

Happiness over getting power and control had a completely different flavor to the taste of gratitude. Control was intoxicating, heavy and mind numbing and attacking in bursts. Whenever it was over, he was left reeling, hastily searching for ways to get his next hit, a new way to crush someone under his heel.

Love was more a trickling, constant stream of satisfaction. It didn’t have that overwhelming euphoria sadism brought, but it didn’t make him scrabble desperately for a new source. Love was always there, warm in his chest and leaving a faint glow on his cheeks.

And now they were gone forever, and he was alone and cold.

Now, how did that happen?

\--------------------------------

Dust rises high in the air, choking him and blurring his vision. Yelling at the soldiers to retreat isn’t even necessary, most of them already tripping over themselves to get back underground and running faster than the wind he whipped up. Only a few brave, stupid souls remained. There were about three people he didn’t know, plus Skeppy, BadBoyHalo, and Tubbo.

God, what the fuck was he going to do? There wasn’t a plan for _this._

He had a plan for about 20 different ways this could have gone, but this wasn’t a scenario he ever could have imagined. Yeah, Dream had console command, but only someone truly evil without a single moral in their soul could do this. Schlatt prided himself on being a hateful bastard, but not even he would ever go this far just for some dumb power play.

The tyrant was right, he didn’t want the blood of hundreds of soldiers on his hands, but it seemed Dream’s own troops weren’t so keen on permadeath either. Okay, massacre avoided. Good.

Now what? Everyone was looking at him for answers, but he had none. Okay, time to pace.

The enemy wouldn’t yield until they had the kid, that much was clear. They’d never go this far otherwise. What would happen if he handed them over?

Dream would have him do some pretty fucked up things, like burn down entire villages or pull people under the earth and let them suffocate. He’d break the kid down until they were nothing but a shell of a person, no will to disobey. If the teen was found to be uncontrollable and a threat, Dream might even…

He doesn’t even want to think about it. The thought makes his head dizzy and lungs ache.

So, they were really doing this, huh? They were really about to have a life-or-death battle. _Fun._

This was all becoming too much. When the man came to this world, he was in it for some entertainment. Maybe a bit of unnecessary wealth, a sprinkle of watching people cry as he took everything they loved away from them. You know, light, harmless fun.

Permadeath was _not_ what he signed on for. Fuck this. Time to get. out.

Messaging Fundy, the fox surveys the land and updates him on the positions of all enemy soldiers remaining. If they made sure to dodge the right buildings, there was a clear path to the world portal. Having any plan at all makes Schlatt feel much better, less like he’s flailing through the sky, spinning out of control. He updates Quackity on the situation, who had maybe one other person stay by his side.

“Alright, new plan. We’re getting out of dodge. Fuck. This. We head straight to the world portal and never come back. Any objections?” There’s silence, and Skeppy even shakes his head with enough force to sprain.

“Amazing. C’mon,” and with that, they’re tiptoeing through streets, mostly abandoned and eerily silent. A few citizens catch a glimpse of them through their windows before running back in panic and hiding under their sofas or in a closet.

They’re halfway there, sweat pouring down their faces from anxiety before an arrow sinks its head into Skeppy’s arm.

“Get down!” Tubbo orders, men scurrying behind broken trees and hills. One idiot disobeys.

BadBoyHalo is furious, screaming a war cry, dodging out of the path of arrows. The enemy soldier is frozen in fear, holding her bow up as a shield as the sword slashes at her. It’s cut clean in half before the sword is driven into the gap in her armor below the shoulder, stabbing straight through her chest from the armpit.

There’s this horrible scream. The soldier wails out the ear shattering yell of someone who knows they’re going to die. Schlatt looks over and sees the kid cover his ears and cry, curling in on himself and trying to block out reality. He’s rocking back and forth and muttering to himself. The president’s heart aches.

As soon as the death message plays, Skeppy runs up to his friend, hugging and thanking him fiercely. Bad looks a bit shaken, but the shock and adrenaline seem to have him mostly calm. A good state to be in during the bleak midst of war.

The agonized screaming seems to have drawn attention, however. There’s the sound of a firework rocket exploding, and Schlatt makes a split-second decision to grab the kid and make a B line for the portal.

“But what about-“ his second in command worries for people they’re separating from.

“They’ll be fine. We have to go,” and he hopes it’s true. Those two can’t live without each other. A long time ago he would’ve said it was foolish. Now he hopes for the best.

Of course, there are soldiers guarding the portal when they get there. Dream is such an asshole.

He snaps his fingers, and it starts raining where they are.

Tubbo lights up at the presence of water, collecting it and using it as a sort of whip, knocking their enemy’s helmets off.

They return fire, and Schlatt pulls their feet under the ground, earth clawing and dragging them under to its home.

The arrow pattern becomes erratic, screaming and crying growing louder as he sinks them deeper. Tubbo uses two long, dangerous ice spears to knock the crossbows out of their hands. They go skidding across the earth as the two men watch in horror. Lucky them the kid has mercy.

Also that Punz just showed up as backup. Oh shit.

He is far too skilled for his own good, dodging ice and fire equally as graceful as a dove while being the exact opposite of peace. The man is an angel of death.

An arrow embeds itself three inches from his head, and yeah, it’s time to leave. The only way to stop him is to kill, and… well…

There has to be another way.

So they’re running again, floor slippery and air cold enough to see his breath. They don’t stop running until their legs burn and lungs are on fire, Schlatt’s quite literally, breathing a bit of flame just to get it out of his system. It’s safe for now. No telling for how long that’ll last. Probably not for very long.

They can’t just run forever. Retreating to Manburg like everyone else is an option, but what would Dream do to the country then? The people? God, this situation was so fucked. Why was Dream such a narcissistic fuck?

If they ran into the wilderness, the devil would hunt them down and find them, no doubt. He was famous for tracking people. There’s no way out. Either he hands the kid over or they both die. Cursing, his knuckles bruise as they connect with the solid brick wall nearby.

Wait. There was a third option.

But was he really willing to put Tubbo’s life before his own?

Those massive chocolate eyes are staring up at him, afraid and wet around the edges. He’s trembling, waiting for his superior to magically come up with all the answers and save the day. He’s just so tiny and so young and so-

_Nice._

The blonde was a ray of sunshine, helping whoever was hurt and obsessing over making sure he never said anything that might upset anyone in the slightest. They were just so much better than him. The universe needed more Tubbos in it.

And less people like him.

Goddammit. Fuck it. He’ll never forgive himself if he chooses otherwise anyway.

Jogging off toward to console room, the brave teen follows behind without a word, without even asking where they were going. They trusted him that much. God.

The pair look out for each other, warning when someone drew too close or they heard something suspicious. The kid seems to finally understand where they’re going when they reach the front doors, shoulders tensing up and crouching down. Rounding a corner, they almost stumble directly into whoever was guarding the entrance, because of course someone was. He could never catch a break in this clusterfuck of a day.

Sapnap stumbles back a bit in surprise, drawing his sword and taking up a defensive stance. No one moves, and Schlatt swears he can hear the man’s heart beating out of his chest.

“What are you two doing here?” he interrogates, backing away slowly. Sweat pours down his face, and the president supposes he isn’t too thrilled at the prospect of fighting two magic users to the death.

“You know what we’re doing here,” is all that needs to be said. The situation was clear. All that was left was to find out was just how much protecting this room meant to him. Having console command is quite serious. The thought of the enemy taking that power and doing whatever they wanted with it probably didn’t sit right with him.

But was he willing to die for it?

“Well then I’m going to have to stop you,” the confidence in his voice wavers with the words. What a heroic little suicidal idiot.

“You know you can’t beat us, fire boy. Get on outta here before today takes another life. It’s not worth it,” ears pulled back and horns forward in an effort to intimidate. It seemed to be working. He looked like he was about to piss himself. The expression on his face might even be funny if it weren’t for the whole eternal death thing. They would have to be absolutely insane to charge in now.

But that’s just what he does, bellowing a war cry as he lunges. It takes Schlatt completely off guard, because what kind of maniac would do such a thing? The unpredictable and unrelenting nature of his opponent leaves him gasping as the sword drives its way into his stomach. And, wow, that hurts. Stomach acid starts spilling inside of him, forcing him to his knees. The world’s a blur of pain and metal as he falls to the ground screaming in pure agony. Everything’s so hot. He thinks he’ll die of dehydration from sweating too much before the internal hemorrhaging gets him. Hand shaking like he’s having a seizure, the cool glass of the instant health potion greets him before slamming it down as hard as he can. It shatters, and the cool mist makes his thoughts return and wounds knit together.

Turning around, he’s greeted by the sight of his pupil and a crazed arsonist fighting to the death. They’re stuck in a pattern of parries and dodges, metal greeting metal, their blades coming oh so close before being blocked by a sword or the handle of Tubbo’s axe. Sapnap just has far more experience and endurance. The kid is tiring out, sluggish and panting while his opponent hardly breaks a sweat. It doesn’t look good.

Schlatt can only gape in complete surprise, dread and confusion mixing together as he watches Tubbo deliberately drive his neck through Sapnap’s sword. The man seems just as confused as him. Why would the kid just commit suicide like that?

It all comes together, his eyes widening as the teen takes the finishing blow, slicing the man’s head clean off, killing him instantly. The death message plays before his body even has the chance to hit the floor.

What Tubbo just did was completely suicidal, but he knew he was a goner if he just kept defending like usual. Taking incredibly drastic measures, he used his own neck to hold the blade in place, leaving Sapnap wide open to attack.

Well, what do you know? The kid is insane.

Stumbling forward, he catches him before he falls, glancing at the neck. Oh, it’s bad. Obviously.

There’s blood fucking everywhere, gushing out of the wound, past his lips, pouring from his nose. They sputter weakly, spitting blood on him and whimpering pathetically. Oh, God.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I got you,” voice trying to remain calm but failing horrifically, “This is gonna hurt.”

And with that, he rips the sword from his body. It sounds like he’s trying to scream, but the noise mixes with the blood and just becomes pained gurgles. Without missing a beat, he places his hands on the injury and heals, praying. This had to work. _Please, work._ Out of anyone, he has zero right to pray to God, but he tries anyway.

Miraculously, the little warrior gasps suddenly before bending over to puke out an obscene amount of blood, in horrible shape but alive. Schlatt sits back on his heels, sighing in relief and thanking whoever out there helped him.

And then he immediately smacks the boy over the head.

“What the hell were you thinking? Have you completely lost it?” paternal rage burning in him, so stressed he has to let it out somehow.

“It worked, didn’t it?” his voice cracks in between heaves.

He’s right, but the action still made him upset, no matter how illogical the emotion was, “Never do that again, you hear me?”

Coughing, wry smile appearing despite it all, “Never slam my neck through someone else’s sword in combat? Got it.”

He rolls his eyes, “Never do something so stupid ever again.” Rising on shaky legs, he grabs his wrist and heads inside the console room, no time to recover from the shock. Time was not on their side. Processing everything could come later.

“So, um… what exactly are we doing here?” the blonde looks up at him through the gaps in his golden locks, curious and timid.

He didn’t really want to have to do this, to go through this, to put _him_ through this when he’s already gone through enough, but what choice does he have?

Quiet and solemn, he types in the commands, skilled and experienced enough to know how to cover his tracks. His breaths are heavy as he inputs the final line.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

“I turned off the permadeath temporarily. It’ll be like this for the next 15 minutes.” They beam up at him, clearly thinking this solves all their problems. His heart hurts.

Not waiting, not wanting to hear that cheerful voice chatter on, “It’s not that easy, Tubbo. There’s always a catch. If we escape or get killed and wake back up in Manburg, Dream’ll just turn it back on and paint the town red. If we run off, he’ll find us eventually.”

They deflate instantly, and the sight is just fucking terrible, like nails to the eyes, “B- but, then why…?”

He leans down and finally confesses the truth, “If I kill you and pretend it was permanent, they’ll think you’re dead and never think to come and look for you.”

“But what about you?” oh, he’s too innocent for this world.

“Dream’s not stupid. He won’t believe we both just mysteriously died, especially after not being able to find our bodies. It’s too convenient, but… he might buy I’m evil enough to kill you.”

“But- but then you’ll… he’ll…” his eyes are watering now, head shaking and backing up. He doesn’t want to believe it. The ram’s response is a sad nod.

“Just… just hand me in. _Please,_ ” crying for real now, tears falling like rain.

“I’m not letting that monster have you. I’ll _die_ before that happens,” taking a moment to send a message to Quackity, telling him to die in a way where no one will see his body disappear, but not too suspiciously. It’s a lot of trust to ask for, especially when the chat doesn’t show respawns are back on. It’s time to see just how much faith the vice has in him.

The death message makes him feel a bittersweet contentedness. Fuck, he was crying, cheeks moist against his will. Despite how morbid it was, Schlatt finds the fucked-up act sweet in a gruesome way.

One down.

“Tubbo, come here,” and his voice quivers with sorrow. The teen shakes his head no furiously, backed up against the wall and axe gripped tight. He wishes they would stop crying before he completely loses it.

“Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be, son,” all he asks is that they _please_ listen, for the love of all that is holy.

“No, I won’t let you. There has to be another way, there has to be. Please don’t. We can think of another plan,” those eyes are going to break him. He starts to feel dizzy. The sword feels much too heavy in his hands.

“I already made my mind up a long time ago,” he mutters darkly before lunging forward. The kid tries, _oh he tries,_ but it’s no use. His superior is just stronger, more skilled, more powerful, and a heck of a lot larger. A cry escapes him when his chest plate is ripped away, leaving him wide open and naked.

All it takes is a quick motion toward the heart, and Schlatt’s sword is buried in his chest, quite literally breaking his heart. Pulling the metal away, they just collapse into his arms, sobbing and holding him while he bleeds to death in the warm embrace.

Hot tears hit his shoulder where the kid lays his head, accompanied by these little gasps and sobs that destroy him.

The words barely come out at all, broken and small, “I love you. I love you.” And Schlatt just breaks down right then and there, choking back sobs that shake his entire being.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. I love you too,” petting his messy gold locks and rubbing circles into his back, they don’t even last a minute before they stop moving entirely, struggles growing weaker by the second until he just goes limp. They fade away right under his fingertips, a hauntingly beautiful shower of sparkles. Arms empty, the weight of his loneliness and what he’s about to do sets in.

**Tubbo was slain by JSchlatt.**

If an actor was what he had to be, then he better be a damn good one.

\--------------------------------

Opening his eyes from his daydream, the ram doesn’t even flinch when Dream sits there only a few feet away. The fucker loved being a creepy little shit, but he’d have to try harder to startle him.

As usual, the masked man’s expression is unreadable, “Finally awake?”

“Sorry, I was just busy fantasizing about caving your skull in,” he smiles without it reaching his eyes. If he were going to be an ass, Schlatt would make damn well sure he’d be irritating right back at him. They make a noise at him which could be distaste, standing.

“Sorry, but you’re the only one dying today. I prepared a special little execution just for you,” he hums like the hybrid should be thanking him.

He answers by breathing fire directly into his face.

Annoyingly, the don’t even flinch. This is when he notices the orange tint to the man’s normally abyssal eyes. Fire resistance. Of course. The orange and red licks at his skin before fading into the scorching air.

“Cute, but no,” the smile that mars his face makes Schlatt want to pull his hair out. This time when he breathes deeply, his lungs let out a much stronger gust of wind instead. It sends him flying back into the bars of the cell where his bones make this delightful clanging noise.

Anyone else would be frightened by the way that frown forms, fists clenched as he marches toward him, murder in those eyes.

Schlatt thinks it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

There’s a hand in his shirt, clenching and dragging him up so the angered man can move his mask to the side, expression displaying nothing but pure malice.

“Damn, now I see why you hide your face. I almost feel bad. Hey, is this how you torture people? By showing them how disgusting you look?” of course, Dream looks painfully average, but the snarl that forms after he says that is priceless. He can’t stop smiling, all teeth and sadistic pleasure.

“You’re nothing but a shell. You’ve lost everything, and you’re about to lose your life. There’s nothing inside you but pride and emptiness.” Wow, he really got to him, huh? Amazing.

He makes a face like he’s thinking on those words for a moment, like anything the tyrant says will actually affect him.

And then he rams his head forward, headbutting hard enough to cause a serious concussion.

For a moment, he thinks the idiot will actually black out, tripping backward and holding his head until falling right on his ass.

Sadly, he gets right up, wobbly on his feet and growling like some sort of kicked dog, blood dripping from his nose. Adorable. Schlatt could stare at that image all day.

Disappointingly, they’re wordless this time as they unchain him from the wall, grabbing him by the arm and walking the pair out of the cell, and he starts to get nervous.

There’s suddenly a gag in his mouth, fastened in a way his cuffed hands can’t undo. Well, someone finally wisened up, huh?

The walk is long and quiet, a thick tension in the air between the two. The hybrid ignores it. He has much more interesting things to think about right now. Like how stupid this whole thing is.

Joining this world was just supposed to be a playful, much less serious venture. How did things get so out of hand? He just wanted to be a power-hungry prick for a little while, let loose. Permadeath was not supposed to be a part of the program. What was he even dying over? To send a message?

Well, everyone did seem to think he murdered a child, so there’s that too.

Dying at 21, huh? Never thought he’d go this early or over something so stupid. When all his sins finally did catch up to him, he thought it’d be for doing something truly horrible, not the opposite. This was all wrong. He wasn’t ready to die.

How did he even get to this point? When he was 16, a demon offered him power, and how could he resist? Growing up poor and oppressed, crushed under the heel of those who abuse their authority was awful. It felt so weak and helpless, so he pledged to make sure to never feel that frail ever again. For a while, he had everything he ever wanted, not waking up worried every morning if he’d be harassed on the way to work or going to sleep early as dinner. Five years of feeling on top of the world.

Now it’s looped around, back to feeling weak again. This was just depressing.

The closer they get, the more regret builds up, regret for joining this world in the first place, regret that he was so easily manipulated, regret that he didn’t call his parents more.

The only thing he doesn’t regret is Quackity and Tubbo.

So here they were, up on a stage and surrounded by cameras, no live audience for fear he’d actually do something like commit mass murder. The loneliness is crushing, and his instincts are screaming at him to do something, freak out, run, anything. But there was nothing that could be done.

Being set on his knees, it really does feel like an execution. Breathing ragged, he’s trying his damn hardest to not start crying in front of Dream, doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

So instead he grins, completely fake and devilish. It pisses the asshole off, so Schlatt chalks that up as a victory.

The real surprise is when the kid, Tommy, steps out, face hard and heated. Was Dream really going to have a child murder him? That’s so fucked up.

There’s the cool press of iron against his throat, and the meaning behind it sinks in. Oh, they were going to cut his throat like an actual sacrificial lamb. Bet that idiot thinks he’s so smart for that. It just makes him roll his eyes in irritation.

Of course, even in death, he can’t miss an opportunity to be a jackass, so he jerks his body in a way that has the metal of the blade refusing its master and flying into the lens of a camera. The laugh that bursts from him sounds completely insane.

The teen barks at him, “Can you stop being an ass for like, three seconds? Have you ever not been a complete pain for once in your entire life?” Unable to speak, Schlatt just shakes his head and winks in a way that has the kid growing ever more outraged. It’s a lovely sight.

Silently, the masked jerk hands him a non-metallic knife, made with what looks like a dragon claw.

It gets raised up, and Schlatt prepares himself.

Instead of giving him the mercy of slitting his throat and letting him bleed out in 30 seconds flat, they jam the damn thing straight into the center of his neck, yanking it out and letting his blood splatter across the obsidian floor.

A firm hold on his horns doesn’t let him lean down and spit out all the blood flooding his lungs, not like the gag would let him anyway, and he realizes he’s going to die by drowning in his own blood.

It stings, and the life flashing before your eyes thing really is true, it seems, because a thousand images cross over him in a millisecond. He thinks about his parents struggling to make sure he was fed, sometimes not eating themselves just to keep him healthy, his business partners becoming close, the sweet smell of whiskey and warm smiles from the makeshift family he made in the end.

Choking, he hopes they listened to him, ran off and are safe. The blood in his lungs burns.

Death has always been scary, but a strange feeling washes over him, probably the lack of oxygen in his brain fucking with him, but there’s this overwhelming sense of peace. He wonders if he’ll go to the Aether, and then laughs sadly, because every demon, no matter what they’ve done, goes to hell in the end. Not like his sacrifice makes up for all his sins anyway. The fact he sentenced the kid to his own fate hits him with a pang of guilt sharper than the claw that ripped his throat out.

Then there’s peace, acceptance, and he closes his eyes and never opens them again.

**JSchlatt was slain by TommyInnit.**

Somewhere, far away, two people hug each other and sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you've never seen a wreck like this  
> Yeah, but I'm always doing better than your peers and your parents  
> So what you trying to say about my wrists?


	16. Sex With A Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things wrap up badly because I have no clue how to write endings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting jiggy with a rifle  
> I'll pull the trigger with my eyes closed  
> Hoping to hit you somewhere vital  
> And when I miss, you come and kiss me with a smile

_It’s so calm down here_ is his first thought, which is strange, because he could have sworn something terrible was happening just a few moments ago. Soon, only scraps of panic remain, escaping him like the bubbles rushing from his mouth, past his lips and into the infinite stretch above. All that was left was a shell, conscious yet unconscious, dead but also quite alive. He was a floating contradiction, the void filling him up. The world a paradox by simply existing.

The inky black water should have seared his lungs, but instead it just felt _right,_ like this is where he was meant to be. This place was nothingness, the boundary between life and death.

Salt water swallowed every inch of his being, from the skin under his clothes, to every groove of his insides, consuming him whole, soaking his lungs and stomach and mind. He wasn’t floating in water; he was the water. The immortal void was him, and he was everything, feeling each ripple send pleasing tingles up his flesh. The ocean playfully tugs at his hair, and he smiles. It was nice. This was nice.

His sense of identity fading, his ego suffocates like a match thrown into the sea.

There’s a war going on inside him, cells and diseases fighting one another, quite literally a constant bloody battle, but his body as a whole is relaxed. It’s necessary for this chaos to happen for peace, much like the constant wars and black holes and stars colliding being a part of the whole, calm universe. He doesn’t exist without air to breathe, ground to walk on, others to talk to. What is he without these? Nothing. Everything that surrounds him is him.

He is other people, and they are him. The stardust that has woven him together pulses in every cell. It’s gorgeous. Everything is beautiful and wonderful and harmonious and important to everything that is.

And then there’s a hand, grabbing him by his, no, grabbing _their_ soft and peaceful knit of molecules. It hurts. Instead of forever drifting downward, an impossibly powerful force is ripping him away from the universe, from existence itself, tearing his being from the whole and making him conscious again, making him alive again.

Suddenly he’s a person once more, just a person, with thoughts and feelings and a defined ending point.

He hates it, despises whatever is separating him from the ebb and flow of the galaxies, making him feel small and alone and scared and-

_Him._

And now the universe isn’t him, it’s out to get him, cold and uncaring. Nothing matters. He can’t breathe. Why does he need to breathe? Oxygen. He needs it. There’s a burning in his lungs, finally registering the water filling them, rejecting it. His body refuses everything, gasping and heaving.

He can’t breathe. Why can’t he breathe? He needs to breathe; _he needs it please God-_

There’s someone speaking to him, the vibrations scraping against his ears without any meaning. It’s unimportant to him. The ringing in his head and way his body is being shaken back and forth comes second to every instinct screaming at him to take in as much air as possible.

Then there’s cold water being splashed over him, soaking him in an all too familiar yet foreign way he cannot describe.

The buzzing in his ears starts to sound like it should mean something, and oh yeah, words exist.

“I’m right here, okay? Please stop. _Please._ I need you to pull it together, okay? I’m right here and I need you to slow down. You’re hyperventilating. It’s alright. You’re safe. I’m right here. _I’m right here._ ”

The voice is familiar. It reminds him of bright laughter, wide smiles, soft looks when the nation wasn’t looking. It’s warm sugar on his tongue, sweet and impossible to ignore. It’s Quackity, holding him together when it felt like every fiber of him was going to collapse like grains of sand escaping through his fingers.

He must notice the way his eyes focus in recognition, because his tone lifts, “C’mon, say something, anything! What- _hostia puta…_ what’s your name?” His name? What was his name? He couldn’t seem to remember. There’s a numbness to his limbs he can’t quite place.

And then those arms wrap around him, and his mind starts going haywire. A wave of nausea washes over him, and it feels like iron in his mouth, nose chest, everywhere. Warmth and life drip from his body, making him oh so cold and afraid. His arms want to never let go, but he’s sinking further and further into darkness, until black is all he sees, and it feels like blood entering his lungs and-

“Tubbo. I’m Tubbo,” he wheezes, head spinning.

“Good, good,” he breathes, relief starting to melt through, “Can you tell me the alphabet backwards?” Why was he asking him such a ridiculous question? He knows the alphabet. Grade school was a decade ago.

Regardless, he pieces his mind together enough so he can process an answer, “Z, y… uh…” As he thinks, his mind seems to stop racing, shoulders untensing, and breathing slowing down enough for his brain to actually process the air before it leaves his lungs.

Halfway through, recognition slowly pumps through him, and all the memories come flooding back with a vengeance.

His knees almost buckle under the force of him sliding off the bed and shooting up, “Schlatt!” An idea gnaws at him before he whips around to stare intensely at his companion, “We have to go save him!”

A pained expression ripples across his friend like a stone tossed in water, “No, we can’t, Tubbo.”

“What do you mean we can’t?” and that panic from before is slipping back through.

They won’t look at him, “I mean he’s several kilometers away in enemy territory. If we go back, we’ll just blow the cover he sacrificed himself to make.”

Denial is the only thing holding him together, “M- maybe if I message Dream then-“

There’s a firm grip on his shoulders, and he’s looking into his eyes now, tears streaming down, “There’s nothing we can do. It’s over. We have to go, _now._ ”

His world has shifted. It feels like everything just tilted 30 degrees and he’s falling midair. Legs crumpling, he collapses into Quackity, sobbing and holding onto him like a lifeline. They just cry with him, hand buried in his chocolate locks.

The moment can’t last for long, however, the vice taking up his role as an adult and leading them out of the room into his own. His bare footsteps echo in the space, bouncing off cool blue walls with the occasional photograph here and there. One of them is the whole cabinet, and Tubbo has a hard time tearing his eyes away from it. The cloak being shoved into his hands irritates his skin.

Oh right, they were fugitives now. The hood covers his horns, and thankfully they’re easier to hide than Schlatt’s, not at the sides of his face in full view. The shoes feel uncomfortable on his hardened soles, squeezing him, closing in on him. Breaths become difficult to draw in again, but there’s no luxury to have a panic attack. They have to get it together as quickly as possible if this was going to work. They had to make this work.

“Do you have any idea where we could go?” and now it was his turn to take the lead. Okay, he could do this.

He takes a deep breath and levels his tone before speaking, “Nether roof. We could take obsidian, run in a random direction for a few hours before building a portal, leaving no trail behind. No one would ever find us.”

“Nether roof?” That’s right, Quackity wasn’t as skilled or experienced as most people in this world, coming from a peaceful land where everyone lived on the overworld and killing for sport was strongly frowned upon.

Time wasn’t on their side, unfortunately.

Tubbo thinks for a moment before deciding it wasn’t important enough to explain, “Just trust me.” They just nod and follow him, hands linked as they run, deathly afraid to lose one another. Nobody notices the pair run off toward the faintly glowing purple of the portal, all too busy panicking and trying to get to their own safety. No one is crazy enough to go to the Nether with respawns off. No one is that desperate.

No one but them, of course.

His friend hesitates, “Um, are you sure we-“ But Tubbo doesn’t wait for him to finish, dragging both of them through the nauseating swirls that make them dizzy and stumble on the way out.

There’s no time to recover as they sprint through the treacherous path, suspended far in the air over a massive lava pool with no safety. He can feel Quackity’s hand start to sweat, but they never slow down, trusting him fully.

When they squeeze through the netherrack, a horrible squishing sound under their feet, Tubbo climbs the ladder first, smiling ever so faintly when the Latino gasps at the sight.

“What the hell is this?” his eyes wide as he scans everything, staring off into the black abyss. It feels like home. Living here would have been tempting if giving into the darkness wouldn’t make his skull explode.

“Nether roof. C’mon,” he beckons, speeding up to a sprint, forcing his companion to trip over his own feet to keep up. It probably wasn’t necessary to run, but it just best to get out of sight of the entrance as soon as possible. Panting harshly, the former vice swivels his head as he moves, taking in the fact that this place was indeed endless.

They only stop once they’re out of breath, rasping and slowing down to a walk. Their backpacks with the few things they brought feel heavy, weighing down, especially Tubbo’s full of obsidian.

The relatively calm silence doesn’t last for long until the kid sees something that makes his entire body freeze up.

**Wilbur Soot has been slain by Jschlatt.**

He can’t move, can’t think. The weight of his horns and baggage and regrets pull him to bedrock. There’s the infinite inky blackness above like before, but he’s not gently floating downward anymore. He’s hit rock bottom. The water calls to him, and there’s a voice in his head wondering what the point is. Why is he alive? Permadeath isn’t off yet. It would be so easy to simply… give up. Sounds so appealing right now. No worries, no struggles, no crying at night. Just the abyss and nothing else.

Quackity is crouching down next to him, hood down and beanie off, holding it in his hands and looking concerned. The sky was actually kind of red right here. It contrasted with the blue of his cloak. The intensity of it hurt his eyes.

“Are you… okay?”

He just _stares_ because does he look okay? The force behind it makes them wince, and he’s too tired and numb to feel bad.

They sit there in silence for a few moments until the exhausted teen starts shutting his eyes, and his partner yelps, picking him up and practically dragging him upwards. Tubbo whines and flails pathetically until deciding to go for the headbutt, sending Quackity sprawling out on the impenetrable surface this time.

They just look at each other for the longest time, Tubbo tired and irritated, his friend tired and understanding. The first one to break contact is the teen, sighing and reaching his hand out, being accepted gratefully.

The journey continues for three more hours until there’s mutual agreement that this is far enough. They’ve ended up 13 kilometers from their original location, most of it quiet. There wasn’t anything to say.

On the surface, they’re over 100,000 meters away. No one would likely ever find them.

The sweat soaking their suits instantly works against them, the other side of the portal a shock to their senses.

It’s snowing, large flakes of it bouncing off the giant spikes of ice surrounding them. It’s beautiful and unforgiving.

His companion’s gaping again, probably a biome he’s never seen before. The man isn’t well traveled, is he?

Despite how brilliantly the frozen earth sparkles in the sun, Quackity seems nervous at the lack of any vegetation for miles.

“Ah, maybe we should go back and walk a bit more?” he smiles anxiously, which Tubbo just ignores. He doesn’t know why. It’s illogical, but he feels like he needs to show this place he isn’t scared. The ice and bareness won’t deter him. He’s strong.

Huffing, he simply pulls his shoes off, carelessly tossing them away. The snow on his bare skin makes him shiver, but he stomps anyway, the earth obeying his command and raising enough to expense stone.

“Start digging,” is all he says, tossing his faintly glowing pickaxe to his partner before venturing out alone in search of saplings. It’s never been so easy to summon fire before, holding it in his hands for warmth as he travels.

\--------------------------------

Quackity is very obviously worried about him. It’s all over his face as he watches the kid lay on the ground face down or curl up in the snow for as long as he can without getting frostbite.

On one hand, he hates worrying his friend. On the other, he wishes his death messages wouldn’t give him away so he could throw himself off the towering ice spikes over and over again.

Neither of them has recovered since Schlatt’s death, a fog of despair settling over them ever since.

After hearing each other cry themselves to sleep several nights in a row, Tubbo decided _fuck it,_ hugging his friend late one night and staying like that until the pair drifted off, each other’s tears on their shoulders.

Now they do it every night, and Tubbo tries to forget how it reminds him of Tommy.

The guilt was eating him alive, being somewhat fine while everyone he loved believed he was dead. His family was no doubt devastated. Philza joined a few days after the whole debacle. God, he was such a bad son.

_He should have come back sooner anyway._

Fuck, he was just so mad. Mad at his father for not being there for him, mad at Dream for manipulating his younger brother and causing all this carnage, mad at the world for existing.

It didn’t feel right for the rest of the universe to keep turning as his was frozen to a standstill, but he learned a long time ago the world didn’t care about his feelings.

The plan is wait out here for at least half a year, let things calm down before making the trip back to the world portal. Finally free, they’d find another world together. They hadn’t really agreed on where yet, but as long as they had each other, it’d be alright.

The two really came to rely on one another, emotionally and everything else. Tubbo built the house. It was small and rushed, trying to stop them from freezing to death, but it was home. By comparison, the large greenhouse filled with flowers, crops, and bees was much more impressive. Quackity mined ores and stone and was an excellent hunter, patiently stalking rabbits in the powdery snow so they didn’t become malnourished.

After accidentally passing out in the nether picking mushrooms off the bedrock, he freaked out waking up thinking he’d blown their cover, despite the fact that anyone finding them was highly improbable regardless.

Then he realized he just woke up. In the nether. _How?_

Feeling reckless, he tests it later, waking up 11 hours later.

There are far more questions than answers and no way to get them. Whatever. It probably wasn’t important. Maybe his life had become such hell that the nether didn’t affect his body anymore. Maybe his heart had already been shattered into so many pieces that it couldn’t explode again.

Whatever.

The longer time drags on, the more bitter he grows. One would think sour feelings would fade with time, but the opposite was true for him. The more he stared out into the speckled sky, the more he craved bashing Dream’s skull in, slamming it over and over again into one of the packed ice spears. How pretty his blood would be painted against the pale white ground and blue sheets.

Quackity catches him scowling at the sky again, cursing the universe. They wrap their arms around him, making the blonde jump at the unexpected touch before leaning back into it. And for a moment, he doesn’t want to die.

\--------------------------------

Fundy wants to die.

Well, not really, but everything had absolutely gone to shit, and he had NO idea what he was doing.

Apparently, Schlatt had it written in that he would take over as president if the rest of the cabinet were out of commission, and well…

The president was executed by the enemy for war crimes, the vice was shot in battle, the secretary of state was murdered by the man he trusted most, and George was in prison.

Schlatt had said something about releasing him after the war, but there was so much more to it ever since the entire government got taken out. He could deal with it later. The whole war and complete loss of the presidential cabinet was a bit more important.

As soon as he got the news, he asked Niki to help. She seemed incredibly reluctant but caved after he literally got on his knees and begged.

So he spent his time reassuring the public and signing papers with his head tilted back so his tears didn’t smudge the ink. Words seemed to bounce right off ~~the~~ his people’s ears. If they couldn’t trust the charming, sweet sheep president, how could they trust him? A fox, stereotyped for being sneaky and conniving? 

The worst part was the funerals he had to attend, each one more depressing than the last. He cried at every single one, failing to stay strong for Niki at Wilbur’s funeral.

God, the maniac treated him like shit, abandoned him, belittled him, bombed him. Why did he care so much? _He shouldn’t care so much._

But the man treated him like his _son,_ despite only being a few years older. Yeah, it was weird. Yeah, it was even a little demeaning, but they loved him so much, and now he was gone.

_Fuck._

The former president’s funeral was… mixed to say the least. Some people were crying, others were flipping off his grave. Most people just seemed conflicted. So much had happened in such a short amount of time, no one knew what to think.

All he wanted to know was what happened and why. Why? Why did the man he grow to trust and respect kill the kid he was ordered to spy on 24/7 just to make sure anyone who even looked at him wrong got thrown off a cliff? Was it just some sick mind game to make him seem trustworthy? To make it seem like he cared?

If he couldn’t trust Schlatt of all people, who could he? Everyone was a potential enemy to him. Every odd glare was a threat. He thinks he’s going crazy, opening the blinds every few minutes just to make sure no one’s spying.

The stress was killing him. Not only from extreme suspicion, but because of the fact that he’d never done ANY government work before. Spying was much different. Now he had to juggle mountains of paperwork, hundreds of people asking him what his plans were, rich fucks trying to con him, and a bunch of big words he didn’t understand. Why couldn’t these people use regular language for once? Did their egos have some fetish for trying to cram in as many syllables as possible in a single sentence?

He was so glad to have a vice, but two people with no experience weren’t enough to run a country.

He wishes Schlatt were here. He wishes he could trust Tommy, who seemed to have been growing unusually close with Dream as of late. He wishes the world would stop disappointing him. No wonder Schlatt drank. He always thought having power would be amazing. Finally, people would respect him, and no one would treat him like a doormat anymore.

So, he rolls up a joint and smokes it, choking on the way it burns his lungs. What can he say? He really is Dutch.

Who cares? All that matters is it calms his anxiety, slows his hands shaking a million kilometers per hour. Reclining back in his chair, it seems to pull him in as he stares off into space. So long as his third panic attack of the day stopped, it was worth it.

Niki was worried about him, but this ironically made it physically possible to think and do anything at all.

Gave him time to think about what the hell he was going to do about Dream and Technoblade. The tyrant declared himself some sort of savior, rescuing everyone from Schlatt’s evil reign. The truth is none of this would have happened in the first place if respawns were kept on. Is he really going to just let him get away with killing half the previous cabinet?

The universe was actually on his side for once here. Soon after everything was said and done, terrible natural disasters started sweeping over Dream SMP, missing Manburg by a long shot despite the close proximity. Hurricanes devastated buildings, bent trees, ruined crops. It was almost as if God was punishing them.

Good, this weakened his greatest enemy, made it possible to stand up for his country. Dream was in no shape to retaliate financially, and Eret was fucking furious with him. Another war wouldn’t be happening any time soon.

All that was left was Techno and Phil, who declared war on all governments before fleeing to God knows where. So he had that to worry about. Perfect. Not like he had 1,000 different things fucking him over as well or anything.

The next puff has his limbs melting into the leather and lungs coughing so hard he thought he was going to hack them up.

This was going to be a rough year.

\--------------------------------

It’s been a month. He’s walking back from the nearest village several kilometers away when he sees it. There’s at least three arrows in Quackity, trying but failing to run as the slowness saps his strength away. His blood stains the pale snow.

It shouldn’t really matter. No one would find them anyhow, but seeing his closest friend in so much pain ignites something in him, something primal.

With a scream, hundreds of tons of ice move under his fingertips, groaning in protest before splintering near the middle, a giant sword of ice falling over and crushing several strays to dust, Quackity only a few feet away and petrified.

Racing over, he’s throwing his arms around the stricken and bleeding man and hauling him to their home, quickly bandaging his wounds and removing the arrows. They’re silent all the while.

“Did you really just fucking do that?”

“…Yeah.”

“…Why are we hiding out like babies then? Dream should be scared of us. I mean, shit man, you could literally throw an entire ocean over him,” never knowing how to stay still, always looking for a fight. It reminds him of someone.

The blonde laughs for the first time since they got here, “Maybe, but I’m just trying to keep us alive for now.”

“We don’t even need to sneak to the portal. Let’s just paint the town red the whole way there. What’s he gonna do? Speedrun the water?”

“Well, I’d probably need a _bit_ more training before I’m able to do something like that.”

“At least think about it, man.”

He smiles, “Alright, Big Q. I will.” Exhaling, he can feel the abyss sway in his stomach, becoming restless. Stars rise and fall between the waves, and he knows he never departed from the cosmos. They always have been one. A memory flashes, bright as an imploding sun.

Peace cannot exist without chaos.

Dream had better be afraid, because there’s at least one pissed off demon who wants his head on a platter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on our dates, it's never daytime  
> When she gets playful with a steak knife  
> I need a break, maybe I'll take five  
> Shake it up and medicate, maybe I'll take five


End file.
